It's been one heck of a ride these last two months, hasn't it? It's also brought up a few issues, hasn't it? You haven't been feeling the most confident about your art, have you? That fear of the Art Police has been rather entrenched as well, hasn't it?
Here's some advice: Shut up.
Let's look at this. Since July, you have started how many paintings? Two carnival poster paintings; one orange slice ferris wheel, several tomatoes on the vine with tentacles, two with fruit and dinosaurs, one medium sized one where the tomatoes are getting revenge on a cutworm, a series of four smaller ones of them getting revenge on other insects, one of a kitsune, one 'inner self portrait,' and another series of four of various critters wearing top hats, bowlers and bow ties. Of these, three are still in progress; two were painted over and the rest went to the gallery.
Of the gallery paintings, two have sold; three have come home, two stayed in the gallery and four were delivered today. That's seventeen paintings in two months and eleven of them ended up in the gallery. That sounds like a good record to me.
So...shut up. Paint. If the Art Police show up, just pretend that It's 106 miles to Chicago, you've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark... and you're wearing sunglasses.
Showing posts with label my own craziness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my own craziness. Show all posts
Friday, September 04, 2015
Monday, July 27, 2015
Creating the Big A...or Not
Geez, it's hot in here today. I guess it's no surprise. I looked up the temps a little while ago and it was 86, with a heat index of 96. Phew!
Today was spent in one of my favorite ways - building supports for the birch boards. The gallery owner gave me an idea based on the Revenge painting and said I could have a week or so to do more paintings before the show became too hard to rearrange, so...
I came home yesterday and did my research on tomato pests. Today, I made the supports and got them gessoed. I thought about working on the painting on the easel while the glue dried and I had used all my clamps (I really need to replace some and add to the collection. Like brushes, one can never have enough clamps.) but it took much effort than I was willing to put in after several hours of measuring and sawing to switch back and forth between 'building' brain and 'painting' brain.
Someone told me yesterday that she hadn't painted in fifteen years but has been getting the calling to pick up the brushes again and it's scary. We agreed that on one hand, it could be a freeing thing - she doesn't have all that academic stuff in her head and she can just play. Then she said an interesting thing: "Well, plus I finally realized I'm not going to make some Big Art. I think we all through that at some point."
It's true. There used to be that little voice at the back of my head. It said that the art had to be Good - a Masterpiece - that could hold up against Masters of Art: Dali, Miro, Warhol...of course, I would do it all my own way too.
I wonder why we think that? Is it more than just artists that go through this? Is it just one of those engrained childhood things? I mean, don't most parents say their kid is going to do Big Things? "My kid's going to be a Doctor! A Lawyer! The PRESIDENT!" I know it's a good thing meat to be positive thoughts for the future but I just wonder. Maybe I'm just warped.
One thing to remember is that Van Gogh sold just one painting during his lifetime. It also strikes me as a lot of trouble to have so much attention on your work. I read somewhere about an artist (I can't remember his name) who got so popular that the business side of things took up so much of his time that he had two hours a week in which to paint.
I have ideas of how I want my art career to go from here, plus I have a standing invite for the gallery as well (that will and can be a post all in itself.) I may as well get off my ass and do it. It's not going to make itself.
Today was spent in one of my favorite ways - building supports for the birch boards. The gallery owner gave me an idea based on the Revenge painting and said I could have a week or so to do more paintings before the show became too hard to rearrange, so...
I came home yesterday and did my research on tomato pests. Today, I made the supports and got them gessoed. I thought about working on the painting on the easel while the glue dried and I had used all my clamps (I really need to replace some and add to the collection. Like brushes, one can never have enough clamps.) but it took much effort than I was willing to put in after several hours of measuring and sawing to switch back and forth between 'building' brain and 'painting' brain.
Someone told me yesterday that she hadn't painted in fifteen years but has been getting the calling to pick up the brushes again and it's scary. We agreed that on one hand, it could be a freeing thing - she doesn't have all that academic stuff in her head and she can just play. Then she said an interesting thing: "Well, plus I finally realized I'm not going to make some Big Art. I think we all through that at some point."
It's true. There used to be that little voice at the back of my head. It said that the art had to be Good - a Masterpiece - that could hold up against Masters of Art: Dali, Miro, Warhol...of course, I would do it all my own way too.
I wonder why we think that? Is it more than just artists that go through this? Is it just one of those engrained childhood things? I mean, don't most parents say their kid is going to do Big Things? "My kid's going to be a Doctor! A Lawyer! The PRESIDENT!" I know it's a good thing meat to be positive thoughts for the future but I just wonder. Maybe I'm just warped.
One thing to remember is that Van Gogh sold just one painting during his lifetime. It also strikes me as a lot of trouble to have so much attention on your work. I read somewhere about an artist (I can't remember his name) who got so popular that the business side of things took up so much of his time that he had two hours a week in which to paint.
I have ideas of how I want my art career to go from here, plus I have a standing invite for the gallery as well (that will and can be a post all in itself.) I may as well get off my ass and do it. It's not going to make itself.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Things I do
I don't know why I am drawn to do this entry. Check that, I guess I do. I started blogging all those years ago because I needed an outlet that allowed me to open up and speak my mind. It was a way to build confidence. I find myself needing it again. Despite appearances on Facebook, I feel I have been saying less and less. At least, I feel I have been speaking with less...substance. It's time to change that. What better way to begin than to write about my Pagan experiences?
In many ways, it seems to be too personal, too private to speak of my spirituality or my practice. Plus, right now I don't have any one daily practice, although I do catch myself looking at a certain plaque I sculpted and just talking to the one it represents. More often or not, I talk to Him almost as if He were a hennish best friend (as embarrassing as it is to admit that,) but it suits Him. I do talk to Him more seriously at times but I can't stay serious for long.
I used to have a more witchy practice - the candles, the incense, the circles and spells. I still enjoy many of those things. I love how centering it is to sit and recite a rosary to the Star Goddess or to gaze into a candle's flame. I still sometimes draw sigils and give offerings, whether it is in return for something done or just because I want to do so. Lately, however, I have been going a more shamanic route.
I took some classes in Core Shamanism many years ago from a student of Michael Harner but they fell apart when we couldn't keep a decent number of people in our drumming circle. While I later read books like Harner's and Caitlin Matthews' Singing the Soul Back Home, the lessons I learned then didn't stick until all these years later.
I won't do it every day but I try to journey at least once a week. I love the feeling I get from riding the drumbeat through the worlds. I love the exploration and the feeling of cooperation and connectedness I feel throughout (well, with the exception of that one flower. It let me know in no uncertain terms what it thought of humans but I have to admit I liked its grumpy, cantankerous self.) I also try to leave room afterward to let my experiences percolate through my brain. I feel that to do it more often, especially without reflection and that percolation, is to risk becoming something of an Otherworlds Tourist, tripping through Worlds and not getting anything much of worth out of the experience. I will not do that to my Gods and my allies.
I have heard people ask and I have asked the question myself, "Are the things that happen during journeys real?" My teacher's answer was that if you get something good out of it, does it matter if it's real or not? I have to admit, it is a good answer. Then again, there are the times I got some bit of information on a journey and it turned out to be right on target. I also remember picking Michael Harner's book Cave and Cosmos and as I flipped through it, seeing a hand drawn map showing a place I had visited in my journeys and never mentioned to anyone. There were other accounts of people having very similar experiences to mine.
I think I have my answer on that score. Something is certainly going on the 'is it real' front.
In many ways, it seems to be too personal, too private to speak of my spirituality or my practice. Plus, right now I don't have any one daily practice, although I do catch myself looking at a certain plaque I sculpted and just talking to the one it represents. More often or not, I talk to Him almost as if He were a hennish best friend (as embarrassing as it is to admit that,) but it suits Him. I do talk to Him more seriously at times but I can't stay serious for long.
I used to have a more witchy practice - the candles, the incense, the circles and spells. I still enjoy many of those things. I love how centering it is to sit and recite a rosary to the Star Goddess or to gaze into a candle's flame. I still sometimes draw sigils and give offerings, whether it is in return for something done or just because I want to do so. Lately, however, I have been going a more shamanic route.
I took some classes in Core Shamanism many years ago from a student of Michael Harner but they fell apart when we couldn't keep a decent number of people in our drumming circle. While I later read books like Harner's and Caitlin Matthews' Singing the Soul Back Home, the lessons I learned then didn't stick until all these years later.
I won't do it every day but I try to journey at least once a week. I love the feeling I get from riding the drumbeat through the worlds. I love the exploration and the feeling of cooperation and connectedness I feel throughout (well, with the exception of that one flower. It let me know in no uncertain terms what it thought of humans but I have to admit I liked its grumpy, cantankerous self.) I also try to leave room afterward to let my experiences percolate through my brain. I feel that to do it more often, especially without reflection and that percolation, is to risk becoming something of an Otherworlds Tourist, tripping through Worlds and not getting anything much of worth out of the experience. I will not do that to my Gods and my allies.
I have heard people ask and I have asked the question myself, "Are the things that happen during journeys real?" My teacher's answer was that if you get something good out of it, does it matter if it's real or not? I have to admit, it is a good answer. Then again, there are the times I got some bit of information on a journey and it turned out to be right on target. I also remember picking Michael Harner's book Cave and Cosmos and as I flipped through it, seeing a hand drawn map showing a place I had visited in my journeys and never mentioned to anyone. There were other accounts of people having very similar experiences to mine.
I think I have my answer on that score. Something is certainly going on the 'is it real' front.
Wednesday, September 04, 2013
This May - Or May Not - Have Happened.
Here I am, walking through another endless antique mall as the folks look for yet another obscure piece of glassware. At least it's one of the more interesting malls. It's a little junky, which means I might have a shot at finding something really quirky and neat.
I see an old, black rotary phone sitting all alone on a table a few booths ahead. I have to admit to a bit of nostalgia when I see it. We had a rotary wall phone when I was a kid - complete with the party line we could hardly ever use because of old Ms. Carr constantly gossiping to her friends. I see this phone doesn't have the phone line that connected it to the wall jack.
I walk closer to the phone, curious about the price. Just as I reach for the tag, imagine my surprise when the thing rings. Out of curosity, I can't resist answering it.
"Hello?"
I hear a deep, ominious voice on the other end. "You better watch your back." it says. I'm so startled, I don't know what to say.
"I know what you've done. Did you think you could commit such a blaphesmy and not be noticed? You can't hide from me, much less the entire celestial army. I will make damn sure you will burn in the deepest depths of hell for this travesty, Leonard Trapaski."
Are you kidding me? I get a phantom phone call and it's a wrong number? I finally find my voice and say, "Who?!"
There is a startled silence on the other end of the phone. "Who is this?"
"Definitely not Leonard Trapaski," I say in my unmistakable for anything but feminine voice.
More startled silence.
"Oh....um....uh...my bad. I...um...have a...uh...haveaniceday."
I hear a click and then the silence of a dead phone. I find myself looking at the handset, down the phone and back to the handset before I put it back into the cradle. Maybe I'm not as interested in the old phone as I thought. Of course, now I'm wondering why exactly Leonard Trapasky has an entire celestial army of angels after him.
Perhaps I'll just let that one pass. Who knows who - or what - will be calling next.
I see an old, black rotary phone sitting all alone on a table a few booths ahead. I have to admit to a bit of nostalgia when I see it. We had a rotary wall phone when I was a kid - complete with the party line we could hardly ever use because of old Ms. Carr constantly gossiping to her friends. I see this phone doesn't have the phone line that connected it to the wall jack.
I walk closer to the phone, curious about the price. Just as I reach for the tag, imagine my surprise when the thing rings. Out of curosity, I can't resist answering it.
"Hello?"
I hear a deep, ominious voice on the other end. "You better watch your back." it says. I'm so startled, I don't know what to say.
"I know what you've done. Did you think you could commit such a blaphesmy and not be noticed? You can't hide from me, much less the entire celestial army. I will make damn sure you will burn in the deepest depths of hell for this travesty, Leonard Trapaski."
Are you kidding me? I get a phantom phone call and it's a wrong number? I finally find my voice and say, "Who?!"
There is a startled silence on the other end of the phone. "Who is this?"
"Definitely not Leonard Trapaski," I say in my unmistakable for anything but feminine voice.
More startled silence.
"Oh....um....uh...my bad. I...um...have a...uh...haveaniceday."
I hear a click and then the silence of a dead phone. I find myself looking at the handset, down the phone and back to the handset before I put it back into the cradle. Maybe I'm not as interested in the old phone as I thought. Of course, now I'm wondering why exactly Leonard Trapasky has an entire celestial army of angels after him.
Perhaps I'll just let that one pass. Who knows who - or what - will be calling next.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Drunken Chaos Reigns in Sumner County
Joannie Higgenbotham, Staff Writer
Firefighters and Emergency Rescue were called to a residence outside of Portland today. What they found when they arrived was unexpected and put several of the respondents lives in danger, as well as the surrounding neighborhood.
T. Phineas Rex, of Portland, had been drinking when he fell off the table he had been using as a sundeck. Mr. Rex fell two feet, injuring his left arm. When Emergency rescue arrived, Mr. Rex was in a drunken rage, yelling "It's the extinction all over again, man!" He then proceeded to lunge at EMTs and firefighters while claiming they were "out to get him." During the melee, Mr. Rex snapped his teeth and swiped his tail at those present, knocking down one EMT and ripping the coat of a firefighter.
Mr. Rex then entered a neighbor's yard where he proceeded to climb onto a dog and ride it as it ran, frightened, around the neighborhood. After several minutes, Mr. Rex fell off the dog and passed out in a nearby yard.
One of Mr. Rex's neighbors, who would only identify herself as Azra, witnessed the episode. All she would say about the incident was, "Been hitting the cider again, has he?"
Mr. Rex is now resting at home. No one was injured but charges of Public Intoxication and Endangerment are pending.
Firefighters and Emergency Rescue were called to a residence outside of Portland today. What they found when they arrived was unexpected and put several of the respondents lives in danger, as well as the surrounding neighborhood.
T. Phineas Rex, of Portland, had been drinking when he fell off the table he had been using as a sundeck. Mr. Rex fell two feet, injuring his left arm. When Emergency rescue arrived, Mr. Rex was in a drunken rage, yelling "It's the extinction all over again, man!" He then proceeded to lunge at EMTs and firefighters while claiming they were "out to get him." During the melee, Mr. Rex snapped his teeth and swiped his tail at those present, knocking down one EMT and ripping the coat of a firefighter.
Mr. Rex then entered a neighbor's yard where he proceeded to climb onto a dog and ride it as it ran, frightened, around the neighborhood. After several minutes, Mr. Rex fell off the dog and passed out in a nearby yard.
One of Mr. Rex's neighbors, who would only identify herself as Azra, witnessed the episode. All she would say about the incident was, "Been hitting the cider again, has he?"
Mr. Rex is now resting at home. No one was injured but charges of Public Intoxication and Endangerment are pending.
Friday, June 07, 2013
Reboot v. 941547244AppleDeltaFish126458.3
Well, it's cloudy with a chance of rain today. I'm assuming Set was successful in protecting Ra and His solar barque on the journey through the night. We're all still here and the world isn't slowly being covered in ice...yet. That rain may still prove otherwise, if it comes.
I've been trying my best to get back into the blogging spirit for days. It seems that if I'm not just sitting and staring at the screen, I'm way, way into TMI land. While I'm sure the TMI has potential of grabbing me ones of new readers, I've had entirely too much grief this past year and don't want or need any more. It's been nearly too much to deal with as it is. That's not to say that I won't have a fit of...something or another and the TMI will show its face anyway.
"Anything worthwhile is dangerous." - Victor Anderson
The last twelve months have certainly proved that. While it has been very tough - mentally, emotionally and spiritually - I have to say I wouldn't change it for the world. I thought I knew what I was made of before. Now I'm more sure. Of course, this knowledge comes with a wish to go back several years in time to those folks who gave me no end of grief and insisted I was an "Earth Mother"...and kick the everloving shit out of them for being right. Hell, they needed kicking anyway. They were jerks.
Some of the lessons I've dealt with in this past year involved strength. I found myself in a situation where I had to deal with bullying and verbal abuse while caring for a loved one. I had never seen this side of the person, although I had certainly heard about it. I was shocked when it reared its ugly head to me. While I didn't exactly deal with it with grace and aplum, I did my best. I do not put up with overgrown, obnoxious brats.
Other lessons are harder to deal with. They are hard because they deal with the heart. Again, I have not dealt with them with grace and aplum...more with tears, incomprehension and depression. Although I have been engaged in the past and certainly cared for that person; I wasn't sure that I was really capable of love. Well, I'm sure now. I found someone that, after everything, I love more than anything but I can't give him the one thing he asked of me. I can't just be a friend to him. At least, not now. Not after all those trips to the movies, to church and to the mountains. Not after all that laughter and silly stuff we've shared. Not after the conversations we've had while driving down the road - even the serious topics he couldn't believe I got him to talk about, like what heaven would be like and whether anyone other than Christians would go there. I can't just be a friend after trying to be there for him when he got down after a friend's wedding or those rare times he talked about his dad's alzheimer's. I can't be a friend after seeing how he got when they tried to screw him over a job he absolutely loved and his trying to decide whether to stay with it, find another job or possibly even striking out on his own with a repair shop. I can't be a friend after knowing how much he wants kids and realizing, after all these years of being an avowed child free person, that yeah - kids with him would be great.
Don't get me wrong. He isn't perfect. He is bossy and can be fairly critical when things aren't done the way he would do them. He is hardheaded and sometimes sees the world in terms of black and white. Sometimes, he can't see what's right in front of him for things that are in the distance, be it in the past or the 'could be.' There are a few things I'm not even going to mention for fear of the dear readers' fragile - or even not so fragile - stomachs. No, he is far from perfect but perfection is overrated anyway...but at the moment, I guess it doesn't matter what I think.
Well.
I guess I finally got something written, huh? Even if it's a soliloquy on that guy (I hope it doesn't sound stalkerish!) Now to keep the writing up for more than just one entry and get more sketches and paintings up here.
Have a good day, y'all and thank you for reading this far. I'll leave you with a prayer from T. Thorn Coyle:
Holy Mother, in whom we live, move and have our being, from you all things emerge and unto you all things return...
Open our hearts this blessed day. Touch our bodies and our minds. Walk with us through the gates of power, in shadow and starlight, in fire meeting earth, in wind on the ocean and the sweet kiss of life.
Blessed be our journey.
I've been trying my best to get back into the blogging spirit for days. It seems that if I'm not just sitting and staring at the screen, I'm way, way into TMI land. While I'm sure the TMI has potential of grabbing me ones of new readers, I've had entirely too much grief this past year and don't want or need any more. It's been nearly too much to deal with as it is. That's not to say that I won't have a fit of...something or another and the TMI will show its face anyway.
The last twelve months have certainly proved that. While it has been very tough - mentally, emotionally and spiritually - I have to say I wouldn't change it for the world. I thought I knew what I was made of before. Now I'm more sure. Of course, this knowledge comes with a wish to go back several years in time to those folks who gave me no end of grief and insisted I was an "Earth Mother"...and kick the everloving shit out of them for being right. Hell, they needed kicking anyway. They were jerks.
Some of the lessons I've dealt with in this past year involved strength. I found myself in a situation where I had to deal with bullying and verbal abuse while caring for a loved one. I had never seen this side of the person, although I had certainly heard about it. I was shocked when it reared its ugly head to me. While I didn't exactly deal with it with grace and aplum, I did my best. I do not put up with overgrown, obnoxious brats.
Other lessons are harder to deal with. They are hard because they deal with the heart. Again, I have not dealt with them with grace and aplum...more with tears, incomprehension and depression. Although I have been engaged in the past and certainly cared for that person; I wasn't sure that I was really capable of love. Well, I'm sure now. I found someone that, after everything, I love more than anything but I can't give him the one thing he asked of me. I can't just be a friend to him. At least, not now. Not after all those trips to the movies, to church and to the mountains. Not after all that laughter and silly stuff we've shared. Not after the conversations we've had while driving down the road - even the serious topics he couldn't believe I got him to talk about, like what heaven would be like and whether anyone other than Christians would go there. I can't just be a friend after trying to be there for him when he got down after a friend's wedding or those rare times he talked about his dad's alzheimer's. I can't be a friend after seeing how he got when they tried to screw him over a job he absolutely loved and his trying to decide whether to stay with it, find another job or possibly even striking out on his own with a repair shop. I can't be a friend after knowing how much he wants kids and realizing, after all these years of being an avowed child free person, that yeah - kids with him would be great.
Don't get me wrong. He isn't perfect. He is bossy and can be fairly critical when things aren't done the way he would do them. He is hardheaded and sometimes sees the world in terms of black and white. Sometimes, he can't see what's right in front of him for things that are in the distance, be it in the past or the 'could be.' There are a few things I'm not even going to mention for fear of the dear readers' fragile - or even not so fragile - stomachs. No, he is far from perfect but perfection is overrated anyway...but at the moment, I guess it doesn't matter what I think.
Well.
I guess I finally got something written, huh? Even if it's a soliloquy on that guy (I hope it doesn't sound stalkerish!) Now to keep the writing up for more than just one entry and get more sketches and paintings up here.
Have a good day, y'all and thank you for reading this far. I'll leave you with a prayer from T. Thorn Coyle:
Holy Mother, in whom we live, move and have our being, from you all things emerge and unto you all things return...
Open our hearts this blessed day. Touch our bodies and our minds. Walk with us through the gates of power, in shadow and starlight, in fire meeting earth, in wind on the ocean and the sweet kiss of life.
Blessed be our journey.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
As the Tomato Turns...
I'm kind of glad the last week and a half is over, mainly because I am so tired of myself. Last Sunday, the owner of the gallery presenting the Tomato Art Fest emailed me a question: "Would you be willing to do more of those little paintings?" So I decided to see what I could do.
Apparently, not much. At least, not as much as I thought I should be able to if I could just get out of my own damn way.
Monday was great. I cut the boards, built supports and glued them all together. Gessoed. Cussed a bit when said gesso dried too fast and cracked. Still, I love this craftsman phase. Saws! Hammers! Industrial Strength Glue! What's not to love?
But by Wednesday, Captain Oblivious was in full command. I had it in my head to go back to some of last year's ideas. "I know! I could try to work out the snail! I love that idea! What about the cherry one that has a little critter embryo in it? That can easily be adopted as a tomato..."
This was one of those times where the good Captain just needed to be shot. I lost two days to the Captain before I realized Meg meant "more paintings like the one you turned in last week."
So Friday, it began. The Great Painting Frenzy. Tomatoes in various "poses." Painting in phases because the paint would just turn to mud otherwise. Sleeping, eating and feeding the cats as the paint dried. At one point, my back hurt so badly from sitting, I vowed I would never sit again when this was all over. I also got so tired of hearing Dave Shuffett because KET4 decided to run a weekend long Kentucky Life marathon and I just never got around to changing the channel. I ended up getting four tomatoes finished:
I've also noticed something...well, stupid about myself when I delivered the paintings yesterday. I have to keep a clamp on my mouth because I can just feel the urge to start babbling when I'm around Meg. She has nothing but great things to say about my work. She has even given me a standing offer to bring her more work to hang in the gallery.
...and that's the problem I have to get over. I'm not in school anymore. I'm not going to get constructive criticism here. I have to stand on my own two feet. The work is good or it's not. I have to fight the urge to just start babbling about what I can do to make it better next time. In my own head, I can always do ever so much better.
Secretly, I wonder when everyone is going to figure out I'm just not that up to par. Until then - or I can just get over myself - I'm going to keep plugging away anyway.
Apparently, not much. At least, not as much as I thought I should be able to if I could just get out of my own damn way.
Monday was great. I cut the boards, built supports and glued them all together. Gessoed. Cussed a bit when said gesso dried too fast and cracked. Still, I love this craftsman phase. Saws! Hammers! Industrial Strength Glue! What's not to love?
But by Wednesday, Captain Oblivious was in full command. I had it in my head to go back to some of last year's ideas. "I know! I could try to work out the snail! I love that idea! What about the cherry one that has a little critter embryo in it? That can easily be adopted as a tomato..."
This was one of those times where the good Captain just needed to be shot. I lost two days to the Captain before I realized Meg meant "more paintings like the one you turned in last week."
So Friday, it began. The Great Painting Frenzy. Tomatoes in various "poses." Painting in phases because the paint would just turn to mud otherwise. Sleeping, eating and feeding the cats as the paint dried. At one point, my back hurt so badly from sitting, I vowed I would never sit again when this was all over. I also got so tired of hearing Dave Shuffett because KET4 decided to run a weekend long Kentucky Life marathon and I just never got around to changing the channel. I ended up getting four tomatoes finished:
I've also noticed something...well, stupid about myself when I delivered the paintings yesterday. I have to keep a clamp on my mouth because I can just feel the urge to start babbling when I'm around Meg. She has nothing but great things to say about my work. She has even given me a standing offer to bring her more work to hang in the gallery.
...and that's the problem I have to get over. I'm not in school anymore. I'm not going to get constructive criticism here. I have to stand on my own two feet. The work is good or it's not. I have to fight the urge to just start babbling about what I can do to make it better next time. In my own head, I can always do ever so much better.
Secretly, I wonder when everyone is going to figure out I'm just not that up to par. Until then - or I can just get over myself - I'm going to keep plugging away anyway.
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