Uncomfortable, frustrating, deflating and dispiriting all rolled into one. This is the state of conscious incompetence. And I am right bang in the middle of it.
The pleasure of learning a new skill has been replaced by the cold reality of daylight. The thrill of finding I could produce a painting which was ‘presentable’ has, three years on, been sharply highlighted by a gaping lack of experience. The short-term affirmation of social media approval and modest sales has been replaced by a cringing reluctance to stick my head above the public parapet.
There is so very much to learn, so much work to do, as a musician applies herself to scales so the painter must learn and practice the techniques and technicalities of their art. Long hours in the studio, alone with your thoughts and insecurities accompanied only by the silent (and sometimes not so!) monologue of self criticism.
But something drives me on, the glimpse of an idea captured on canvas, crossing the threshold of nebulous to form laying down a moment in time, an outward incarnation of an inner life. There is something calling out, bigger than and beyond me, enticing and playing with my heart a I struggle and strive; it at once elates and then strips me bare. Cleansing, simplifying, purifying and humbling perhaps one day it will enlighten also as to the core nature of this oily world in which I find myself immersed.
Top: ‘Poetry with Pomegranate and Plum’ Above: ‘Trio of Plums with Blue Jug’