Last night, at the end of Tae Kwon Do class, the head instructor talked to me briefly about my plans for the future. He asked if I'd decided whether to continue with TKD. I said I wasn't sure yet. He asked me about my previous injuries--two knee operations, a torn hamstring, etc. I threw in a few more--I've been in physical therapy for my shoulders lately, and I have sciatica.
Then he asked me a question that threw me off guard.
"Why do you think those injuries happened?" he said.
My first response was, "Well, my first black belt instructor seemed to think my knee could bend backwards", but I knew that would be seen as flippant (though true.) I knew that, though I still carry a lot of bitterness about what happened, he was looking for a different answer.
I thought for a minute about what each of my injuries had in common.
I said, "I'm an older student. I came late to Tae Kwon Do, and it's never been easy for me. And I'm not light on my feet, never have been. And I'm not good at going backwards." (The last two injuries came when someone charged me and I didn't get out of the way in time.) "But I'm excellent at starting over", I added.
He seemed satisfied, and left. I am left to ponder whether this dojo is the right place for me to be.
And once again, I'm amazed at what martial arts has to teach me about being an artist. Because everything I said applies to me as an artist, too.
I came to my art late in life, at an age where most others are already making a name for themselves after years of good work. If the numbers hold true, I'll be coming into my own when everyone else is retiring.
The art doesn't come easily to me--the habits of a lifetime are hard to change. I often listen too much to what others think. I tend to put other people's needs first, neglecting my own work to do so. I get bogged down in the details, and caught up with the business end of things.
I feel like I have to start over a lot, and I'm not good at going backwards.
And yet, I'm excellent at starting over.
I chose not to return to the ACC Baltimore show this year, despite being accepted into this highly-respected show. I AM returning to the Buyers Market of American Craft. I'm not sure it's the right show for me--I'm getting overwhelming signals my work may not fit an east coast aesthetic--but it was the right show for many years. I'm hoping it's a good place to "step backwards" into, for the time being.
I'm taking a huge leap of faith and doing a brand new show, the American Craft Retailers Expo (ACRE) in Las Vegas in May. It may not be the right place for me either, but it will hopefully target a different, western market.
Taking on the time and money to do both shows feels overwhelming. I wake up at night in a panic, worrying about the logistics of shipping my booth, the size of my Visa balance, the fear that the buyers still aren't coming back to the wholesale shows. I feel like that woman who rides around the circus ring, standing upright with her feet on two horses. It's okay as long as the horses don't decide to go in two different directions. (Another good metaphor, come to think of it. DAMN I'm good at metaphors!)
And I've had a few special orders for wall hangings based on older designs. As I work on them, I worry about "going backwards" (though I also note the ones in question are some of my most powerful pieces).
I worry about my hands. All the handsewing is wreaking havoc on my carpal tunnel syndrome. I worry I may have only a few more years' of handwork left in me. Then what??
And then, just when I feel like it's time to give up, something happens to bolster me up. A phone call out of the blue from an artist who raves about my work, fiercely encouraging me into marketing aggressively to that western market. A new design idea that's stumped me for years suddenly works out. (A new pin is even now wending it's way through the U.S. Postal system to the lovely woman who
cajoled me for years to make her a Lascaux Bull image.)
Maybe I can learn something from going backwards. Maybe it's the spring-loading for starting over. And moving forward again.
Gosh, it feels just like when you land a really good roundhouse kick into your sparring partner's abdomen.
