It was about seven months ago that I made a post begging the question, What all could you do if you just changed your expectations of how to do it? And I affirmed that I was bringing out my art supplies again, because I could still paint if I relaxed the restrictive expectations I put on myself of how it needed to be done.
And thus, over the course of two months, I made this.
Then last month, I had a major epiphany.
It started as a sort of existential crisis, seeing a different butterfly on Instagram which I immediately wanted to paint…until I thought about the actual process of doing so. Then I became very drained, and I couldn’t tell if I just didn’t like painting anymore, or maybe I was just really overwhelmed by all the work it would take. Those seemed the most probable reasons. And yet…
The entire week prior to this, I’d been schooled by the Universe from every corner on the differences between who were once were and who we become. How we progress into completely different people, if we’re doing it right. Even the “us” of several years ago, we are the same, but–to pull from an episode from How I Met Your Mother–it’s as if we are our own doppelgänger, after having changed so much.
I mulled over my mysterious lack of artistic enthusiasm all day, a bit thrown off at the idea of myself, with so much talent in the field, possibly not wanting to “art” so much anymore. Do people really just stop being artists? How was it that I identified such a need to paint and yet all I felt was frustration? How was that even possible?
Then something happened that knocked me off my metaphorical feet.
I love dance and watching it. So there was a PBS special airing on television–Dancing at Jacob’s Pillow: Never Stand Still–and when I caught it, they said something really profound about one of the men in the business.
Ted Shawn, toward the end of his life, wrote, “It is a paradox that I, who have a strong desire for what will endure, and will be permanent, should have chosen the art form which leaves nothing but memories. And yet I am satisfied this is my medium, and my destiny.”
It was exactly what I needed to hear to tie together all my pondering of the past several days. The Universe had been preparing me to let go of who I was trying to force myself to be–just because it’s who I’d always been–and embrace all that I was now. And in the moment I turned on the television, I was receiving a wake-up call.
Hearing that segment helped me recognize I wasn’t so much being an artist, as I was clinging to the idea of being an artist to escape a common human emotion. I realized that I wanted to paint and produce art, not out of a genuine desire and love of the process, but out of fear of not leaving something behind more than memories.
That was a difficult pill to swallow, but finally everything made sense. I was frustrated because the act of painting, in that moment, was no longer about expressing joy, but controlling anxiety.
And maybe I’m not as much of an artist as I used to be, but I am multifaceted, as are we all. Since relieving myself of that burden and seeing things as they are instead of how I want them to be–or through the lens of fear–I also realized that over the years I’ve slowly made the transition from Artist to Writer. And I say transition because in the past I’ve always been an artist first and a writer second, but now, my creative spirit flows much more effortlessly through the medium of words. I also enjoy being an amateur photographer–the key word being enjoy. And this time, I know better than to jump from one label to the next with the implications that it will save me from the fear of being forgotten.
I have the desire to create, and I still very much enjoy painting, and photography, and writing. But doing something out of fear, is not divine.
♥ a rainbow at night