This week I have had something every day. Tons of final details for the DeMille workshop here next week. Have hired and organized professional lighting/filming/projection of the 12 hours of demos, received the donated easel and supplies (thank you Jack Richeson), thrilled the residents of Apple Blossom Retirement Center with having the event inside their community building...and figuring out how to allow them to view the demos...working with scheduling 7 model sessions...(clothed, for the people who asked me today)
Add to that, getting my show entries polished and framed for that deadline on Saturday (Mr. Les will judge the show on Tuesday).
Just as I was feeling at the first of the week like I couldn't paint worth a diddly squat, I got an email from a local artist (actually a world-class artist who happens to live here) who has resumed teaching. We 'interviewed' each other today (HA! I flatter me...he was doing the check-out) and I was very pleased to have a student spot offered. More on this saga as it unfolds. Remember, I'm lazy? A SCHEDULE? 9am-4 every Saturday? AARGH!
My skill level has grown by leaps and bounds in the last year, and even though I have been selective with my 'tutors', a few weeks after an intensive study I feel me slipping and the old lack of confidence creeping back in. Even when my local critique group gave me kudos today (and being aware how brutal they can be when necessary), lack of confidence is a subtle creeper, always just beyond the veil, you always question, make excuses!
My favorite threat these days is to go back to piano...nothing can be harder than painting. And I was a classical pianist at 16. No surprise, but I didn't feel it was a talent, just an ADD personality who could sit still and practice 4-5 hours a day. Thought it was a skill, not talent. Anyone could do it. What a baby I was, I'm sure there was no emotion in my playing...I did love Beethoven, though...what 16 year old can really feel his music and perform it with emotion?
Do the whispers ever go away? If they go away, do you lose your edge? Can you ever knock that little curmudgeon off your shoulder who whispers bad things in your ear? Or just sing LA-LA-LA-LA to drown his little ass out.
Quite possibly, my progress will be slower in the future? Does 'Progress' slow with time spent at the easel?
Maybe this is why some writers use fake names? So if a project is bad they can have distance from it? Or they can write trailer trash tomes and enjoy scads of money? OOPS, one stars (socially acceptable one to four stars). Me Bad.
Kinkade anyone? Wonder if he ever wishes he had used another name for his scads of money-grubbing art, and kept his real name for his wonderful en plein air work? If you've never seen it, look it up.