Feeling Untethered, Unmoored, Adrift?

This essay is for you.

I Have a Dream: An American Anathema; 24” x 24” x 2.5” Collage Mixed Media; by Crystal Marie

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There is an essay underneath this essay that I’ve been wrestling with since my last post, when I claimed the next excerpt for the book would be coming soon to premium subscribers. That was July 7th, nearly a month ago.

Okay fine, it was an entire month ago.

Since that time, I’ve written, erased, labored over, wrestled with, deleted the entire thing, recovered the deleted thing, argued with it, argued with myself, took out all the swear words, put back all the swear words, added a few more swear words, took entire paragraphs out, put entire paragraphs in, prepared my proverbial resignation letter, and pretty much tried everything other than jump up and down and scream.

Okay fine, I may have done a little of that too.

In the midst of it all I’ve filmed, edited, and released an entire feature length workshop, and spent a couple of days each week for the past 3 weeks running Grammy Camp, aka babysitting the grandkids, while their parents adjust to a new work/life schedule.

And, I have to admit, I spent a bunch of days also beating myself up for not being able to tend to all the details needed to properly market the launch of a new class, or keep to a set writing schedule, or show up at all the events and openings locally, to support all of my arty friends, not to mention, my own creative and human needs.

In a nutshell, I’ve been mad at myself for being a human. Which is exactly why I decided to put the finishing touches on this essay and release it today. In spite of knowing that it isn’t the next chapter excerpt I wanted it to be, it is the essay it needed to be. For me and perhaps, maybe, for some of you too.

There is an essay under this essay that I can’t quite put my finger on. One that actually will wind up being a part of the book. It is there, right under the surface, and I suppose it will emerge when it is good and ready.

Tomorrow I’ll retrieve my art from the group show and attend a closing party/meeting with the other members of the Women’s Caucus for the Arts. And Sunday I have promised myself a day of rest.

Today, I will close this computer, and give myself permission to spend the evening in the studio working on some of my own art projects, and I will try to remember that my own words, written to you, are also for me.

So without further ado, if you are also feeling a little unmoored, untethered, adrift at sea, swept away by the current moving you further from your dreams, or drowning in a tidal wave of unfulfilled needs, as an artist or a human, this one is for all of us.

“You need a tangible idea to get you going. The idea, however minuscule, is what turns the verb into a noun — paint into a painting, sculpt into sculpture, write into writing, dance into a dance.”

- Twyla Tharp, The Creative Habit

So much of my art practice has shifted to these online spaces since the start of the pandemic, that I nearly forgot how to get myself and my work out there in the physical realm.

Joining the Women’s Caucus for the Arts and entering my work in a recent group show was a great way to dip my toe back in the water. The reception was a fun evening of connecting with other artists and art lovers.

It also served to illuminate how rusty I’ve gotten with this part of my practice.

I mucked up my entries, cobbled together my artist statement from several older statements, forgetting how much I’ve geared them towards teaching and writing over the past few years. Do I have a website of my own artwork? Ummm, yeah, but it's still under my ex-married name and hasn't been updated in (checks watch) at least 3 years. Business cards? Same. Also, I forgot them at home.

I didn’t finish this collage until the last minute before the entry deadline. The cold wax layer I used to protect the surface was still curing when the show was installed. All just a little sticky and a lot embarrassing.

I applied to two shows in the same week. As much as I mucked up my entry for this one, the other one was a hot mess and I regretted my hasty eleventh hour attempt as soon as I hit send. And yes, it got rejected.

I could add a few more things to that list of whoopsie and awkward moments in my feeble attempt at reconnecting to this aspect of my old art life and dreams, but you get the point.

Whether it's due to a global pandemic, tending to family and work matters, or a personal crisis, it's easy to convince ourselves that the disruption in our goals is some kind of sign. That this bumbling of a first step back is evidence that it wasn't meant to be.

There is no point in trying, maybe it has been too long, after all, we aren't properly prepared. It all translates to internalized messages of not being good enough and evidence that we really don’t have what it takes.

We tell ourselves these stories to ward off future disappointment. Because what if we get rejected? What if we make a fool out of ourselves in the trying? What if we simply aren’t good enough? What if it is too damned late and we missed the boat?

I slid a bit down that shame tunnel. Telling myself this showing of my art in a gallery thing, exhibiting in shows and generally having anything to contribute to the art world, was nothing but a pipe dream. That the opportunities had passed me by when the pandemic forced the world, and my life, to shift. Maybe it was never meant to be. Maybe I really had missed my boat.

But then I remembered the truth.