Not really sure if any of this makes sense.

(Ed. note: This entire post is one big, long, rambling tangent. I got to the end and was like, Dude, wtf? How did I get here? But “here” I did get to. So bear with me.)

I don’t want to go near my easel.

I’ve been attacked by an overwhelming case of, “What is the point?”

At first, I got all upset, because I was telling myself there was no point because my art wasn’t hip enough, it wasn’t “in” enough, and no gallery in a big city would ever take it, because it’s just not “right”.

But that’s not really what’s going on here. That’s just the surface stuff. That’s just the story that I’m stuck in, and that I tell myself, so I don’t have to deal with the issues underneath.

The thing is, I feel like my art is wrong. Maybe because too many people (Bob included) have told me why my art just isn’t right. They’re my creative monsters.

“You should paint tourist scenes and sell them to the tourists. That’s the only way to make money with your art.”

“You shouldn’t paint such stormy skies. It’s depressing. No one will like it. No one wants to buy that. Paint happier paintings.”

“Put a light in that window – it’ll make it cosier. People like cosy. It makes them  happy. Don’t make your paintings so lonely. No one will want it. You have to put that light there. No one will buy it otherwise.” (Someone did buy it anyway, for the record.)

“I don’t like your idea for that painting. I think my idea is better – its clever, and interesting. You should use my idea. It’s better.” (Really? Because I think its lame.)

“This painting is boring.”

“You got the colours all wrong. It’s too pink.”

“Your landscapes have no emotion. I don’t feel anything when I look at them. What were you feeling when you painted this? Because I feel nothing. You should only paint people. Or dogs. That painting of your best friend’s dog is amazing.” (Not my best friend’s dog, by the way. Commissioned painting of a dog I’d never met from a person I’d never met.)

And while I can logically discount some of this, its still the junk that’s floating around in my head and stopping me from putting paint to canvas.

And inside of me, I’m yelling “Why can’t you all just fuck off, and let me be me?”

And I think that’s what the problem boils down to – feeling like just being me is never enough. That I need to be something else, and create something else. It’s enough to make a girl scream.

“Why can’t I just be me?” is what the little girl inside is asking. “Isn’t me enough?” And then I have to hug that little girl, because she just doesn’t get it. And I want to protect her. Because I couldn’t do any protecting when I was that little girl.

And I still have this programming that says, “Well ‘me’ isn’t enough, and I need to be something different, and paint something different, and then I’ll be successful and cool and hip and rich and noticed.”

Yet I’m starting to realize that this programming is wrong. And that maybe success means something different to me than what I’ve been raised and told that success should be.

So, if I had to redefine success for myself, what would it be? (Maybe this is a personal ad for success? Perhaps?)

The ability to be fully myself, and have a select group of people appreciate that. To be able to sell my paintings to collectors who get and appreciate my work. To be able to live off of my art. To be in flow – to let go and release, and move into an easier way of being, where I stop struggling, and just be. To be in a place of joy, and simplicity. To love every second of my life, good and difficult. To be involved in lots of different projects, all of them creative or helpful. To be able to give to the world. To be content to just be me.

Now that’s different. That’s different from what I’ve been saying, although exactly what I’ve been feeling all along. And it’s funny, because that place is less an event, and more of a feeling. Probably one that I could start creating right now.

And getting into “flow” is not my forte. I’m not good at relinquishing control, despite the fact that I know that’s what I need to do. I’m still clinging to the banks of that great big river called life, afraid to let go and dive in. I’m waiting to know if its safe. And I know I’m not ready to dive in yet. But I’m getting there. And getting into “flow” is another post entirely.

I realize that this post kind of jumped all over the place. Its crazy what kind of stuff can sometimes be blocking you from creating. Little did I realize it was me just wanting to be allowed to be. There’s all sorts of patterns going on here, like wanting approval and feeling invisible, but if I start on those, I’ll be here all day.

And I should probably go tackle that easel of mine.

Tags: Art, being comfortable in your own skin, being hip, contemporary art, learning to be yourself