“We must not let the perfect be the enemy of the good”
Voltaire
I have been MIA on this blog for quite some time now and I must say getting back in the saddle is definitely not easy…especially after stopping for what feels like ages. Well, 5 months and a few days to be exact. With that being said, there isn’t a day that went by without me missing this space that I have created. There isn’t also a day that went by that I don’t curse myself for starting it in the first place and constantly asking myself why oh why did I have to get involved in blogging (throws hands up in the air, Greek tragedy style)
“It is better to show up imperfect than to retrieve into an early grave with perfection as the sole companion.”
As a Libra if there’s one thing I do best is study the pros and cons until I lose all motivations to do anything. I overwhelmed myself by making things more complicated than they should be until I became paralyzed with thoughts of not being good enough. You see, I had managed to convince myself I needed to hit the ground running. I had forgotten that nobody truly hits the ground running and that baby steps matters. Instead of keeping track of my progress, I kept track of my shortcomings. A true recipe for disaster. As time passed I couldn’t bring myself to get back in the saddle but I couldn’t bring myself to quit either. It was like being frozen between heaven and hell. Naturally, once I’ve driven my husband to the brink of suicide I suddenly come to a “realization” which in my language means I have a melt-down usually scheduled around the time dear husband is trying to relax after a 60+ hour work week ( I truly married my soulmate…). While it is not easy to maintain this blog, I have discovered during these past few months that it is even more painful not to. Dear husband has truly been instrumental during these few months of absence gently and relentlessly coaxing me into action. Not a day goes by without me thanking God for him.
So for what it’s worth, I am back and hopefully for good 🙂 One thing I know for sure: It’s better to show up imperfect than to retrieve into an early grave with perfection as the sole companion.
“What we often call art or see as magic usually hides a debilitating amount of work.”
I’ll never forget the day I attended my first drawing class. I know it sounds like I am about to relate a death scene but I can’t help it. I’ve always wanted to learn how to draw but somehow never got around to it. In retrospect considering how long it took me to actually set foot in an actual art class I am forced to recognize that maybe I just wanted to indefinitely entertain the idea of drawing. Nevertheless the day of the class I was so excited I could hardly wait to leave work. In fact I spent so many hours daydreaming about it I actually forgot to buy art supply and had to borrow a sheet of paper from a couple of lovely classmates. I could already picture my drawings leisurely hanging on every wall of our little home with friends and family deeply impressed and throwing around sentences like “Oh my God, you did that? You are so talented” with me trying really hard to fake that deep layer of intelligent detachment usually required from famous show dogs. Sadly those happy dreams were to be savagely crushed. I was the first one to arrive and found a stern-looking little lady arranging class materials. I prayed to God she was just a very helpful student and not the actual art teacher I’ve fantasized about about the entire time.
“The art teacher looked more like a retired math teacher from the 50’s.”
You see I was either expecting this:
“What an art teacher should look like…”
OR this:
Why can’t my art teacher look like this…
Prayer unanswered. The art teacher looked more like a retired math teacher from the 50’s.
“…She asked us to draw a second shoe…. I ended up drawing something that couldn’t possibly come out of a healthy human mind…”
Moving on to the actual setting. The classroom was located at the very end of an extremely long and impersonal corridor. This corridor was so bleak it could easily qualify as a star feature in a big-budget horror movie. I was clearly not expecting pictures of grand masters hanging down the walls but a couple of students artwork could have added some much-needed appeal. The classroom itself was a very large and cold-looking room with class materials heavily piled up in a remote corner. There were big windows but a tall and dull building was blocking the view. A large and square table sat in the middle of the room like a sacrificial stone in a dark dungeon.
More details on the teacher. There was no whimsy, no magic at all in the way she dressed. I mean you’re an artist for God sake! Do something out of the ordinary even if it is just wearing your clothes inside out! Her look and matter-of-fact behavior was a giant slap to my tortured artist spirit. If you’re short of ideas at the very least throw a can of paint on your shirt, forget to wash it and wear it the next day. I was open to the possibilities of meeting a free spirit but what I had in front of me did not in any shape or form represent my idea of what an art teacher should look like.
“I blame those movies featuring stylishly starving artists lugging around big portfolios that look like they’re smuggling giant pita breads.”
She took the magic out of the entire thing. I felt slightly rushed. I mean I thought we were going to do some theory first like talking about the grand masters and possibly crack the mystery behind Mona Lisa smile but sadly that was not to be. She reviewed the class material and put us to work right away. Isn’t art supposed to be magic or something? Or maybe the magic only happens after years of practice. But then again isn’t it always like this in real life? What we often call art or see as magic usually hides a debilitating amount of work.
As practice, she asked us to pick a shoe from a giant shoe pile and try to draw it. I somehow ended up with a drawing of the magic school bus. She asked us to draw a second shoe. This time around, setting all dignity of manners aside I rushed to the shoe pile and literally jumped on what to me looked like the simplest shoe style of all time. A classic pair of kitten heel pump. I still ended up drawing something that couldn’t possibly come out of a healthy human mind. And yet, each time, she would take a long look and say the same words “keep going, you’re close”. I must admit a couple of family member did try to warn me but I didn’t listen. I hyped myself up by thinking I was naturally talented. I was looking for shortcuts and found none. The advice people offered seemed so simplistic that I chose to ignore it.
In the end, I was forced to realize there were great discrepancies between my idea of what an art class should be versus the real thing. By the end of the class she said something that profoundly resonated with me. In essence she told us that ‘As in any creative process, when drawing an object there is always a choice even if purely unconscious made by the artist on how to best render the said object based on what the artist is trying to say”. I guess that’s what makes art so subjective. It is always a reflection of oneself.Even when we choose to render our deepest emotions, we still feel the need to put some kind of order into the chaos. The very fact of picking up pen and paper automatically forces one to streamline the process. Although you won’t see me exposing my chef-d’oeuvre in any gallery any time soon I am happy to report I did manage to learn something…after all….:)
Don’t be shy dear readers and do share your budding or tortured artist experience:)
The F Files 