Sometimes I don't even pay attention to the breath in my body. Slow, rhythmic, life-sustaining, you just do it - you breathe. So it is with art. I wasn't aware, initially, that I was holding my creative breath, and slowly withering because of it. That first conscious in-take of creative breath was a heady experience. I still fall into the old habit of holding my breath and I need to stop that. Life intervenes. "Important" things invade my space, mental and physical. Who deemed them "important"? I need to go practice breathing, the studio beckons. The dust bunnies can wait.