are you insecure about your artwork? with your level of skill I wouldn’t know why. you are leaps and bounds above many and my art doesn’t even compare to your level of skill. seriously, I dare to post my artwork on the net and get it in people’s homes hoping they’ll like it and won’t be disappointed in some way.
It’s scary to give a piece of yourself to another person. That’s what selling art is, we can’t help it because that’s who we are, who artists are. We put a bit of our soul on canvas and have people put it up in their living rooms. Talk about being exposed. It can be daunting to sell a bit of one’s self yet its beautiful when we do. And we’re driven to do more. It’s like a drug. We have to put paint on canvas, and each time we do we have to do more. Girl, the life of an artist….constant exposure, constant insecurities, constantly driven to repeat the cycle. It’s just who we are. I would not change it either.
Open the door…to answer this comment…and thank you Sundrip for your astute skills in observation and fearless friendship with me. I appreciate you so. Truly. I love you.
Now…let’s talk about it. My first reaction was “Hell no! I’m not insecure!” Of course the speed and ferocity of the initial response let me know there was truth there. Ok. Truth. Yup. I am insecure about quite a few things. I poked around in the meat wagon and found all sorts of sore spots. Owning the feelings…vulnerability…ahhhh, aka torture for the overly observant with excellent memory skills coupled with a vibrant imagination and driven intelligence.
Ok, well I also found some not so sore spots…more on that in a minute.
Insecurities: fuck all…my health, my education (self taught, everything and I’m blue collar all the way), my ability to make a living anymore and contribute/sustain, my body that is fighting the fail, my ability to form and keep healthy, lasting relationships with other humans, of being seen and being invisible too (at the same time), pity…I don’t want it, and insecure of being used, abused, enslaved or trapped in any way.
That’s a little bit of a pile, eh?
What I also found: I am not insecure about my work. I actually like my work and feel it’s one of my (better) assets as a being. I am pretty Ok in that area. Yay! I am not insecure about the work…what a frickin relief, I tell ya.
The thing is…if I never sell art again, I’ll still make it. I have too. It’s what I am. It’s how I cope with being here, alive and all that goes with it. It’s how I process what happened (past), what I want to happen (future) and what IS (now). I’ll stop when I’m dead.
I am rethinking, however, what it means to be “successful” in my mind…and to actually refine that, hone it so that the blade of my ambition doesn’t cut so deeply, as I carry it around. My ego is strong and flexible. I have a pretty good idea that I’m kinda smart, in my own way. I have a pretty good idea, that I have my own thing and it’s a little different and different is good…and good-n-hard too.
It’s the act of selling again (which I used to love doing and was really good at it too).
I am not insecure about the production of the work or my ability to get it done or my ability to be naked in front of the crowd…ack…here we go…door time….
I am insecure that the sharing of myself, the raw honesty…. is a devaluation, a peek into dark corners, a look into the goldfish bowl of my psyche. That’s intense…the work now…is so raw and imperfect and I struggle to let it “be”. I used to sell art all the time…I spent a lot of time making it “perfect” and I found out what people wanted and painted TO them. No one saw the work in progress…no one saw or felt my anguish (sometimes) or joy in the act of delivering it out of my mind and onto the canvass. I don’t paint to sell anymore…I just fucking paint my heart out…I splash all of this stuff inside of me, that no one wants to hear or see or know…onto the canvas…not the pain or the fear or tears…the lessons. The results of the chewing. The results of my processing. It’s a very…naked feeling. In a different way. I’m not hiding anymore.
Here I am.
Warts and all. I’m learning. I’m allowing. I want to live again. I want to continue. I will. I am naked, in front of the crowd, no longer youthful, pretty, special…now I inhabit this body, I study this soul, I feel the feelings, I don’t hide, I show up. I sift. I own. I let go. I learn. I study. I ask. I ask. I ask. I work. I share. I try not to judge myself, but that’s hard when my practiced skill sets of dealing with myself/life…turned out to be abusive, when I learned that the biggest threat to my actual life was me…myself and the way I treat/think of this being…I became Eve in the garden.
Aware that I had always been naked…ignorance did not make for a good blind to hide behind. Intelligence, it seems…did not absolve me from the lessons, either.
Eve had to find her way…I will find mine.
Here…hold this fig leaf for me, will ya? I don’t need it anymore.
Love always, HA! <3