3 weeks ago I finally began my long-awaited art class. We’re talking waiting 50 years here. It’s odd because as compulsive as I can be I still manage to procrastinate for decades and in this case an entire half a century.
I’m loving this class and my mind is percolating with a gazillion ideas that I want to commit to canvas. Have I started even one yet? (other than the one in class) Nope. Then it occurred to me. Is this painter’s block? Oh crap. What the hell is wrong with me?
So I’ve dedicated the last 3 or 4 days to stewing about it. Had a minor spat with the Hubman that almost derailed my contemplation, but in the end it actually helped. As much as I claim to not care what people think – I really do care. ***sigh*** The spat occurred because I was holding in something that I should have gone ahead and spit it out before it festered.
So I went and sat down at my easel and stared at the blank canvas, sort of brain yoga session. What is stopping me from picking up a brush I wondered? Many things actually. Will someone think what I paint is stupid or weird or childish or inane? Will they think it’s proof that I need to be in a padded cell for the foreseeable future. Being branded as mentally disordered, this is always a nagging fear although I manage to push it into the background most of the time. Maybe I need to drag it out in the back yard and beat it with a broom? Air it out and stop trying to hide that fear.
This is the same exact thing that stops me from writing sometimes. Will someone read what I wrote say something like “oh, that’s…uh….nice.” And then roll their eyes behind my back? It has never really occurred to me before now how much courage it takes to be creative, for me anyway. Creating something means you are doing something that hasn’t been done in the exact same way you are doing it …ever. It might be similar, but never the same. That’s a scary thought.
The argumentative and negative piece of my brain comes up with the most ridiculous inner monologue. “You know this has been done before and better to boot. What makes you think you can do it? Why try to reinvent the wheel? Well, OK, Mr. Brain. I’m not trying to reinvent the wheel here, I just want to paint a picture. It’s a HOBBY, meaning something done for pure relaxation and enjoyment. Why do I have to make things so friggin complicated?
I ran across a joke website a few years ago and it cracked me up laughing. It was a blank page with 2 lines that read “You Have Reached the End of the Internet! It’s time to go outside and get on with your life. I guess there is a limit to things you can find or do on the internet. I’ve researched everything I could possibly imagine 8 ways from Sunday.
So I’m standing at the crossroads again. It’s time to crawl back out of my temporary shell and get on with my life. Oh, if it were that simple. I’m leaving Saturday for a week-long beach trip with 2 girlfriends. Looking forward to the vacation itself, but not looking forward to packing or the airport. And I’m really, really not looking forward to doing the spread eagle in that body scanner machine. It’s just yucky, there’s no other word for it.
I wish that I could just wiggle my nose and magically be on the beach with an ice-cold mojito in my hand. But I have to pack and hate that. I’m afraid that if I start packing too early my cat will get in a snit and pee in my suitcase. Have you ever had the feeling that you have to hide the fact that you’re leaving from your pets? Like you’re doing something wrong and you have to be all furtive about it. But you can’t hide – they know you’re up to something. They’re little furry 4 legged mind readers.
I snuck a load of laundry in today and tried to keep a straight, innocent face. Like “hey, I do laundry all the time – nothing going on here.” Mr. Kitty will bust me though when I start sorting my toiletries and stacking clothes on the bed trying to decide what to bring with me. There’s no fooling him. I wish I could just sit him down and explain “Kitty, it’s true I am leaving town, but the big furry beast, the Hubman, is staying here. You won’t be left alone, God forbid, or packed up in a crate and shipped off to the cat hotel.
Animals are so real. They act on their emotions, no bull about it. “You have offended me oh great one, therefore I shat upon your bath mat!”
But, I’m going anyway; I’m not going to let a cat run my life.