This is where I am (and have been) on my first 16" x 20" painting and it’s almost done. I need to add some fine details in the foreground. I’ve also decided to paint in a hiker on the path too, but I’ve been stuck with the fear of screwing up what I’ve already done. It has been 5 days and I have moved nowhere. I’ve decided to give my fear a soapbox and let it blurt out all it needs to. . . so I can move past it and get back onto the canvas. Let me try to describe how I see my fear. First of all it is very hard to coax my fear out into the light to even get a good look. It likes to hide in the darkest folds of my grey matter. It is rarely seen and is never in focus. The closest thing I can say it embodies is an extremely unkempt, foul odored, greasy, squatty, much much meaner, snarling Cousin It. (From the Munsters, remember?) It moves like an amoeba under my hair follicles and can permeate all that I do. It attacks my cognitive thinking and weakens my muscles so I can easily zone out to the tv and move with sloth-like speed. When I am in the throes of making art, it is like I am inside a centrifuge constantly testing the outer limits of my fledgling abilities. It is a fast and freeing place. Once fear takes hold, the power is cut. I try with all my might to hold on to outer reaches, but the weight of my fear makes me loose my grip and I slowly roll back to my center, that well worn dent on the couch cushion. In essence, my fear freezes me into a place so I can no longer push out the boundaries of my comfort zone. So what is my fear saying and asking right now? Not a damned thing! Just giving it a good, smelly description and how I interact with it has made it settle back down. Time to turn the centrifuge back on. Yippee! |
AuthorJust me, Cat Porter Archives
March 2016
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