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On 12 August 2000 I made a list of everything I would
do if I lived without fear or need for external approval.
I listed 129 things. I have attempted at least 114 of
them. Making art was number four. |
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I have tried to corral
my creative energies and pursue other fields. I
was almost a biological anthropologist, almost a
novelist and short story writer, almost an attorney,
almost an historian. Until just a few months ago,
I contemplated relegating creativity to hobby status
and going to medical school.
I am an artist.
Amazingly detailed measurements
for Nanny and
Papa at Christmas.
In 2004, I lost my dear friend Rita. She was elegant
and witty. She was an astonishingly gifted short
story writer and playwright, but for most of her
life, her craft was a lower-ranking priority. She
was just coming into her own and gaining national
and international recognition for her work when
she was diagnosed with brain and breast cancer.
If I have learned
nothing from her life, I have learned that nothing
matters as much as following your passion and being
true to yourself. Life
does not wait.
Learning to express myself artistically has been
a life-changing process. Creating is an opening,
a blossoming, a nurturing, a testifying, a remembering,
and a trusting. Perhaps it is a letting go more
than anything else is.
When I create, I let go of expectation and prediction.
I let go of perfection and caustic self-criticism.
When I walk into my studio to create, I light incense
and make my inner
perfectionist patiently wait outside the door.
I give her last Sunday’s New York Times crossword
puzzle, a pen, and a cup of peppermint tea.
I sketch constantly. I always keep a small sketch
pad in my purse, in my car, and by my bed. My mind
is always active. The most mundane activities and
objects inspire me. I always look for new ways of
seeing.
Each time I begin a new piece, I review my sketches,
but I try not to be confined by them. I cannot create
with a rigid mind. I need to be open to discovery.
I have to stay open
so I can let each piece transform me in some way.
So I can learn something
about myself, the world and the way I see it. So
I can be innovative or find a new approach or technique.
I have struggled to give myself permission to create.
There was a period of several years when I created
nothing because I was afraid of making mistakes.
Now, I don’t make mistakes; I discover new
techniques.
Rough sketch of Maw
Maw First.
I have talked myself out of feeling guilty for wasting
fabric, film, and art supplies. (So many quilters
covet cherished fabrics they cannot bear to cut.
Cut them.) I even worried about wasting my sewing
machine’s light bulb. None of that matters.
The only thing that matters—that truly, truly
matters—is finding your passion and pursuing
that passion with every bit of joy
and determination you have.
Written 13 June 2005 |
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