I Am Not A Painter: An Exercise in Embracing Imperfection
Sometimes, it is challenging to put ourselves out there, especially when feelings of fear or judgment control us.
Take one: Poppies: A Watercolor
About six months ago, I found myself grappling with the familiar and frustrating foe of writer's block. It is a struggle that often rears its head during the editing phase. These blocks are not caused by a lack of words but rather by a constant urge to refine them. I frequently sit in a space that I define as "treadmill writing"— sitting at my computer, typing words and sentences, deleting words and sentences, repeat! In these moments, my mind is whirling with a combination of ideas and doubts.
My battle to complete and publish a writing piece is always fierce. To navigate these inevitable blocks, I turn to watercolor painting in hopes of finding a sense of peace and flow in my creativity. Unlike writing, painting and watercolors do not come naturally to me. The blank page for painting feels intimidating, while the blank page for writing feels welcoming, almost like coming home. This different kind of creative outlet allows my brain to reset and rest as I contemplate the proper order and style of my written word.
I often paint what I am writing about, so recently, when writing a piece on seeking out flowers during travel (See the post.), I decided to paint flowers to inspire me through the editing phase—perhaps not my best idea. The process was formidable, as I am still learning how to blend colors, use brushes, and understand how pigment and water work together.
It was also my first attempt at painting flowers with watercolors, so it was challenging. Upon completing the painting, I was immediately drawn by the urge to edit; however, in contrast to rearranging words, I quickly realized that amidst the medium of watercolor, editing was not really an option. A feeling of embarrassment and a fear of criticism emerged, so when the painting was dry, I turned it face down on my desk.
About a week later, my oldest grandson was visiting and playing around my desk. Having forgotten about the painting, I turned around to discover him holding the painting in his hands. Examining it closely, he looked up at me and said, "Grandma, this is so beautiful. Why are you hiding it here on your desk?" I responded by telling him I did not know why, and he said, "You shouldn't hide things that are pretty. You should tape them to the wall." These innocent words from a five-year-old presented a powerful reminder that beauty is subjective.
The dry painting, while not perfect in my mind, compelled me to face my inability to correct or control perceived imperfections. At that moment, I was forced to confront my writer's block as a self-imposed constraint. The struggle with writer's block is real. My ongoing compulsion to meticulously edit and re-edit every piece of my writing ensured that nothing I wrote would ever see the light of publication, hence protecting me from potential criticism.
Jim Carry once said in a commencement speech, "Now fear is going to be a player in your life, but you get to decide how much. You can spend your whole life imagining ghosts, worrying about the pathway to the future, but all there will ever be is what's happening here, and the decisions we make in this moment, are based in either love or fear. So many of us choose our path out of fear disguised as practicality. What we really want seems impossibly out of reach and ridiculous to expect. So, we never dare to ask the universe for it. I'm saying I'm the proof that you can ask the universe for it."
Mr. Carry's quote encapsulates the struggle many of us face. We choose the path of fear instead of love. We hold ourselves back out of practicality to protect ourselves from the "what if" instead of being brave enough to choose the path of our deepest passions. What I really have always wanted was to be a writer and a photographer, and not just a writer and photographer but a travel writer and photographer.
Since the moment I first held a yellow-framed National Geographic magazine and ran my four-year-old hands across its glossy pages, I knew I wanted to travel the world and share those experiences with others. Until now, I've let fear hold me back from sharing my creativity with the world, using practicality as an excuse to avoid facing my fear of judgment and criticism.
Looking at this watercolor of red poppies through the eyes of my grandson, I see that it is BEAUTIFUL. It should be shared and, yes, taped to the wall— even if it is not perfect. The next one will be better, and the next one after that will be even better, but this first one is beautiful just as it is and should be enjoyed. There is no need to protect ourselves from our own perceived inadequacies.
Enjoy,
—M
