Ideas and inspirations come from the strangest places and
sometime they're the same entity. Many, many, many times (daily) I hit the wall
(that is, I experience a loss of mental energy) with a painting or an idea and
put it aside, though not out of sight. Then I begin the process of "beat
Ida up" and make accusations, "Aw…I'm a quitter. Or, why can't I
finish what I start."
Then who always pops into my head but Thomas Edison who,
when talking to fellow scientists about electricity, realized how much further
ahead he was because of his experimental failures. He knew what didn't work.
However, I expect to draw inspiration from my painting or
any such project. The experience of flow keeps me returning until I'm done. I struggle,
but each day I walk away with a little something that will bring me back. Occasionally,
on a painting that I applied two layers of paint—is stunning. Now I'm stuck
because I don't want to ruin what I have. I become timid and a timid artist may
as well curl up and die.
It's always about emotions. And I know my emotions lie to
me. They lie to me from the moment I get up in the morning until I go to bed at
night. Two separate times in my life I went through therapy and therapy taught
me to channel these feelings; that sometime emotions are my best friend.
I believe my emotions lead to a crisis to test me; like
pesky little stepping stones measuring who and where I am. Early in my career,
during one of those many tests I decided to stop pursuing art/painting. An art
teacher of mine once said, "Never throw anything of yours out because one
day you'll think it was the best you've done." THAT has never happened.
Instead, I began to gather all my saved work to toss them. Only an idiot would
keep reminders of former failures when there are many waiting in the future.
Pile upon pile, they were all going to the dumpster. Until I
found my first serious drawing and it was "bad." My eight-year-old
niece drew better than I did. It was a graphite drawing of water skiers. The
figures were a step above stick people, the waves were sharp points ready to
decapitate any skier, and I was 24-years-old at the time I made the drawing. I saw
how far I had come.
Whoa… I took that drawing, framed it, and it hangs in my
studio today. That first horrible drawing inspired me to continue. It and my
emotional crisis showed me where I had been and where I am.
If you get fewer than 2,000
rejections a year, you are not working hard enough.
