I used to go shopping with a friend who could sew. I mean, I can sew, too. But she sewed clothing, whereas long ago I gave up the quaint idea of making things that have to FIT.
We would ooh and ahhh over the interesting clothes, and I would inevitably buy a few pieces. But she never did. She'd always--ALWAYS--flip the piece contemptuously and say, "I can make it!"
The funny thing is, though....she never did.
Today I took an art moment over my wake-up cuppa coffee. Instead of checking my e-mail I sat down with an issue of CLOTH PAPER SCISSORS, a magazine dedicated to collage and mixed media. I'm reading Spring 2005 issue #2 which you can see here: http://www.quiltingarts.com/cpsmag/cpshome.html
An article by Patti Mosca caught my eye--"I Am Artist, Hear Me Roar!" She described herself flipping through an art magazine or visiting a show, overwhelmed by the creativity and beauty of the work. And the emotional tailspin that follows, and I quote: "I could have done that!" "Why didn't I make that??!!" "Everyone's doing that, why not me?" and finally, "I should just throw in the towel." I laughed in total self-recognition.
Her article goes on to offer suggestions on moving that negative energy into positive energy. As I went back to the studio I wondered: Where is the good in that original lizard brain reaction of jealousy to the work of other artists?
By the time I reached the studio, the answer hit me. When that reaction makes you act, it's a good thing.
When the reaction keeps you locked up in inaction, it's not a good thing.
My past friend was locked up. She couldn't allow herself the pleasure of buying a pretty new top. But she never pulled out her sewing machine, either. Maybe she saved some money. But I never saw that it bought her any more happiness in the end, either.
When my lizard brain kicks in, I've learned to kick back. I boot it into action.
If the artwork I see feels really out of reach for me, I can do a study. I can make a similar piece. Not for sale, not for exhibit. Just to learn what the other artist was doing, to explore how she put her colors together and how her composition works. That's usually enough to get me down the path of making my own piece, far enough away from the original that no one but me ever knows what happened.
Sometimes the artwork is wonderful, but just not me. Even then, I often find there's something else that triggers an "AHA!" moment for me--a solution to a design problem I'm having, for example or a new color combination that inspires.
The next time YOUR lizard brain speaks up, enjoy the ENERGY it carries. But don't let it stop there. Make sure "I can make it!" turns into "I can make it HAPPEN."
