Sunday, November 4, 2012

Let Me Change Into Something A Little More Uncomfortable

Look, Here's The Thing:


I know I said I'd continue my story today but I'm having a hard time focusing on it (though I will share the photos soon -- those do not deserve to be kept in the closet). The reason I'm choosing to be so lame about the details is because I can't seem to get past a more overwhelming feeling; one that's making it hard to talk about anything more specific than its general unspecific-ness.


I think I'm starting to hit a wall. Like the day after Christmas, and the disappointment that all the waiting and hoping you did for months is gone; after everything new has become old again and you begin waiting for next year. The second I resigned myself to writing every day for an entire month, I knew I was in for some hard slaps in the face. Because I know myself -- that newness keeps me excited about what is constant, but every new thing will become that constant given enough time.


I know this cycle all too well. I've had both moments of other-worldly joy and complete and utter boredom in my painting. I've had days where I thought every mark was pure gold, and others where I was sure that I completely ruined something great. But you know what's interesting? Almost every time I thought I'd mined the prized nugget I found it dull upon revisitation. And whenever I left the studio in total despair I came back to see a brilliance I had missed.


It's as if the expectation creates the dysfunction. That whatever you assume will be is the exact opposite of what you get. So when do we stop expecting so much? When do we understand that it's all gravy, in the end?


I'm not really even sure where I'm going with this, today. All I know is what I felt I was getting myself into at the beginning of this process, rearing its ugly head: I'm making myself uncomfortable. I absolutely hate being held to guidelines in any creative process, and the guideline here that I do it every day without fail makes me want to punch that wall straight in the teeth. It's like, "don't tell me what to do, Mom! I make my own rules and I WILL WEAR NEON EYESHADOW IF I WANT TOO!"


What I do know but don't like to admit, though, is that making yourself uncomfortable sometimes brings out the best and most unexpected truths. It says, "I will face this fear, and I will rip its face off with my spiky heels. I will win." And the more you push the discomfort, the faster you get to the other side of it -- knowing a hell of a lot more than you did when you started. It's the reason my artistic process has evolved so much in the time I've been involved with it: because no matter how many times I never wanted to pick up a brush again, I always came back. There's a saying that when it comes to working in the studio: all you have to do is show up. So this is me showing up.


I was telling my therapist the other day how afraid I was of getting invested in this experiment only to fail. She reminded me that the only way I could fail was to stop being honest. Here's my honest moment of the day. I'm hoping that I come back to it tomorrow and find it a little brighter than how I left it.



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