Painting, and pretty much all creative and artistic expression , is a growth experience. For instance, this painting started out as a very different one. I intended to paint a clown fish in a sea anemone. I had an underwater picture that was just striking, and although I was not trying to duplicate it, I thought it would be a simple matter. After all, how hard could it be to paint Nemo? Well, folks, some subject matter is much better done with an underwater camera and not by a novice painter. After a very frustrating series of attempts to make the clown fish look like a real fish and not a caricature, I gave up. For a few moments I mourned the fact that the painting would go into my drawer of shame. The issue, of course, was that my background work had taken so much time. Who wants to invest in something and have it turn out crappy. It is like spending hours on a new recipe and the dinner is a huge disappointment or studying for week for a final and flunking the darn thing.
In a sort of frenzy I remembered my art teacher had mentioned using a mat to 'frame' an unfinished work and see what popped and what didn't. Suddenly it occurred to me that I could cut off the part I didn't like - so poor Nemo had to go!
Then I put in some nice whimsical looking fish and as they looked a little disoriented, I gave them some purpose with the fishing line and baited hooks. The painting is titled, "Worms again?" Okay, so it is a silly name, but it is kind of a silly, almost pretty painting. I like it though and that is what counts in art in the end. It is impossible to always get validation from others, and although it feels good when it happens, art is personal. If I like I put it up on the wall or I give it away to someone who expresses the same appreciation I feel. One day I may sell my work, but not yet.
My job is pretty much a head trip as I write all day. When I quit work I do need to indulge in something that stimulates the rest of my brain. I judge my time and effort by whether or not the creative expression felt good. Did it shut down my head for a change? Did I forget about my husband's cookies and chocolates for a few hours? Was I able to lose myself in the infinite and suddenly realize that hours had gone by because I was so immersed in the process and so intensely focused? That is how I judge the experience. The end result is hopefully worth keeping, but if it isn't, then it isn't. One of my descendants will toss it when it no longer has any relevance.
When I do any kind of art or creative work I have to remind myself that if it flops, I will not go to prison. I will just do another painting or sculpture or basket and try again. Most of us don't want to even try things we aren't already good at, which is a shame. Imagine if someone thought they had to be a great pianist the first day they sat down to play, or the same thing with a great actress or a sports figure or even a politician. We are all entitled to fail on our own terms. Hopefully it will be a temporary and short-lived experience.
My mini-epiphany with this painting was that just like in life, not every effort we make in art has to be perfect. As a matter of fact, even in utter failure, we often learn something more valuable. Maybe it is as simple as browns and purples aren't that pretty together. Art is teaching me to be less impulsive (think about the design first and get the perspective correct), more patient (paint does need to dry) and to take risks (yellow and purple... hmmmm) without fear of failure.
Ni moto, as they say in Mexico. Roughly translated it means, oh well, or maybe it doesn't matter or its out of my control so I will give it one good shrug and then let it go.
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