Monday, March 28, 2011
TW3 - March is almost gone
The taxes were filed electronically this year by the accountant who does my taxes yearly. It always strikes me about this time that I pay a lot to have my taxes done when I make so little money. How much simpler my financial life would be if I just took my Social Security check and ran. But I argue I cannot live on SS alone. Who can these days. Two years without a raise while prices they don't seem to track in the inflation index just keep going up and up and up.
I look at what I make on my rental vs what it costs to keep it rentable and I wonder why. I look at the cost of supplies for art which is not currently selling, not to mention fair fees gambling on an improved market by summer and again question the decisions I make. Last year it did come out on the plus side for both ventures, but it would have to be way more profitable to make the effort seem worth it.
But I try not to judge a book by its cover or a year by the first quarter. For an artist the first quarter is all outgo and no income unless like one of my artist friends and you have a stack of commissions. I don't. And then there is the now gone tooth. Like years depressions are always worse in the beginning. I think it is the denial factor. One more piece of chocolate and I will be up for the day! I remember thinking that in my wild and crazy youth and the next drink.
I am told this dismal beginning on 2011, the year I looked so forward to because it was not the loathed 2010, was because of Mars in Pisces and very soon now it will be moving into Aries or just has. And things will be a lot better. The joke in our family was just around the next bend or over the next hill. Mother was always sure we would never get there. Dad was oddly the eternal optimist on our destination of the needed gas station. And since he always had held together the damaged bomber until the home airport on friendly territory came into view I generally sided with him. However, Mother's extreme negativity (or fear) did penetrate. And especially where art is concerned.
She told me being an artist was stupid and so I avoided being one for decades - my redneck period. It was not until after her death I was able to dare to sell my creative output. I have not cut off an ear as she would point out continually as the end result of being creative, but I seem to be living up to her prediction of starving artist. I win awards while other artists get commissions. I get raves and others get sales. I need a seachange in my soul. I should exorcise my mother's voice. Let it be gone, except in the matter of fudge recipes, with the end of March!