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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Failure Is For Winners.

Look, Here's The Thing:

I've had a lot of people coming forward to tell me what they think of this little word-vomit collect-orium lately. Fortunately they are kind words and more than I ever would have expected going into this. I had the great pleasure of spending a night with a few of them yesterday.

 

Today, in attempts to take a rare Saturday off work to put some thoughts on paper (er, keyboard) amidst continuing life dramas, I find myself stuck replaying words of encouragement from people I wasn't even expecting were paying attention. Seriously, you are all amazing.

 

But now, as I sit in the cold and dark, chain smoking on my parent's deck, all I'm thinking is; "jesus christ, don't fuck up."

 

It's like I'm balancing on the hind legs of a chair, marveling in my own poise but terrified that if I add some juggling balls to the act I'll end up toppling backwards and laughed at in history class (true side story: I was the recipient of an unfortunate classmate's very same balancing act in high school, whereupon the toppling ended up right on my foot. That bruise took a long time to heal and at a stretch could be contributed to my fear of "pushing the limits").

 

Isn't that far too often what keeps us from moving forward, though? When we hit that place where we know we've done something right, how often do we settle in the contentment instead of pushing beyond it; because the possibility of throwing it all away when the going gets good feels like throwing yourself off a cliff? Better hope Coyote's got some Acme tricks up his sleeve to catch you when you fall.

 

My favorite sarcastic letter-keeper likes to cryptically comment on what I'm doing here (yeah you, I know what you're talking about). The other day he snidely said to me: "it was ok, but not as good as the last one." My first thought: "fuck you, motherfucker! You don't know me!" And then, "oh fuck yeah I know, you're right."

 

So after those two drastically different instances and further internal expletives -- both positive, in their own ways -- I've had a hard time getting back to it. It's like one side of me is saying, "you can do better" while the other kicks back and pops a beer to watch the accolades pile up. Ta-da! That's all, folks!

 

Truth is we're all going to fuck up sometimes. And we're all going to be praised for our efforts. The trick is finding the right balance of both -- the right combination of people that are going to give you all the good along with all the bad and ugly. The right amount of internal strength matched with honest criticism. It's the only way we grow.

 

And I know by now that the only way I grow is to get outside of this bat-shit-crazy head of mine to listen in on the other bat-shit-crazies around me. The bounce-back of what you are allows you to see it from the outside in, in all of its wonder and disappointment. We're all in it together, right? Here's to the potential to fail!

 

The King Of Dogs or: What I was doing while procrastinating.

 

 

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