It stands to reason, that with the changing of the seasons...and the changes in my life...that so too, is my art. I've been feeling a little dissatisfied with it lately...like I've been pushing it...over thinking it. (Which, coincidentally, is what I do in many areas of my life.)
Growing up, I had the privilege of watching a fantastic artist struggle, and work, and grow...My father is the quintessential, eccentric artist...an extreme perfectionist, who left me awestruck...and VERY intimidated. I remember when I was about twelve, and he found one of my sketches on my bedroom floor...it was a pencil crayon drawing of a saloon showgirl, of all things. Let's just say that his critique made me no less passionate about art, but ensured that I kept my work hidden for years...knowing full well that it wasn't good enough.
How often we take experiences like this, and let them alter how we view ourselves. This is one of many interactions that left a mark on me. This is what I was thinking about the other day when I was staring at my canvas wondering why I just wasn't 'feelin' the love' for it. It was because I was standing there worrying about proportions...choosing the right colour palette...trying to get the shading right...blah, blah, blah. I'd totally lost the joy...that connection with our souls that we feel whenever we a focusing, deeply creating...and so I walked away. I sat with this for a few days...and then I let it go...not completely, but enough to bring me to freedom...and colour...swirly free-formed flowers, and little retro birds...and proportions be-damned! And after spending this weekend in class...I will be spending part of my holiday Monday singing...dancing...and painting. Who knows, I might actually get something finished. ;-)
Have a Happy LONG Weekend...