The Eleventh Hour is Right on Time
Holding it close and releasing it, and why imitation is not flattery
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I sent my book proposal off to the publisher yesterday, on the very last day of the contest I had the opportunity to participate in. A major accomplishment towards my goal of finally writing this book without pictures I’ve been talking about ever since my first book was published seven years ago. (The Art of Expressive Collage: Techniques for creating with paper and glue; 2015, North Light Books.)
The moment before I pressed send I was filled with a sense of dread. Anxiety chatter ramped up in my head. What if I was too late? What happens if the file is corrupt? What happens if they don’t like it? What if I don’t win? What if I wasn’t clear enough in my writing? What if, what if, what if . . .
The moment after I pressed send all of that chatter was replaced by a huge sense of accomplishment. Rocky music playing in the background of my imagination. I felt the rush of energy I’d been holding in, all of that anxiety, the hyper vigilant inner child waiting for something bad to happen, suddenly transformed into excitement. The need to physically move my body compelling me out of the chair I’d been sitting in for the better part of the week in my efforts to get the thing done by the deadline, the 11th hour rally to make up for the time lost over the past month.
I jumped to my feet with my hands held victoriously over my head, did a little happy dance and then literally ran laps around the living room and kitchen arms held high screaming wooooooooooooooHOOOOOOOooooooooooooo over and over again, fully aware of the spectacle I might be making if any of my neighbors happened to catch a glimpse at that moment through my windows. It didn’t matter, I knew I needed to move that energy through me to release it, just as I was releasing my writing efforts to the publishing committee.
My original intent was to publish the synopsis that I submitted for all subscribers to read and then post another excerpt from the sample chapters for my paid members. But suddenly I’m feeling this unexpected sense of protection over what I submitted. Holding it close to my inner being in the way of holding close a newborn baby, shielding it? Shielding myself?
Exactly from what, I’m not 100% sure, but I think it has to do with the number of times I’ve been excited about something I’m exploring in my art practice and shared it too soon. Excitedly telling my ideas to another artist, or posting my early efforts online, only to have it stolen, without the other artist ever acknowledging me for planting the seed of inspiration or crediting me for said idea. Almost every artist I know has shared having a similar experience. In this day of social media and the rise of the need to produce content as part of our marketing plan, the issue has become rampant.
Recently someone I know shared in a Facebook post that an image she’d posted of her work on Instagram had been copied and reposted to someone else’s account without permission and without crediting her as the artist, without any mention of the work having been created by another artist at all. It gave the impression the person who reposted it was the artist. Many of the comments affirmed that copying her image was inappropriate and the sharing of it without credit added insult to injury, but then several of the comments were along the vein of the old saying “imitation is the best form of flattery”, telling the artist it was a compliment that someone found her work so appealing.
We are trained from a very young age, especially common among women, to be accommodating of other people. When someone else has a need we meet it, even when the cost is to our personal well being. Don’t be selfish. Don’t ask for anything in return or it doesn’t count. We don’t make waves, keep the peace at all costs, which translates to keeping silent. Do not speak up, you might hurt someone else’s feelings. Do not cause conflict by pointing out a problem. Even if it is at the expense of someone we love.
We humans are wired to work in community. Avoiding conflict in a system of dependency of others was a matter of survival, as was working conflict out when it couldn’t be avoided. Working conflict out in a mutually satisfying way is a life skill many of us are sadly lacking. Especially when we are raised in environments where conflict was toxic and boundaries were nonexistent.
Avoiding conflict by pretending the thing didn’t hurt or recasting the offense as unintentional flattery is a form of gaslighting. It ranks up there with other messages commonly told to women as little girls. That boy is picking on you because he likes you. The mean girls are just jealous of you, they must have terrible home lives. We do it to each other and we do it to ourselves without understanding what we are perpetuating.
The artist is to stuff her feelings and not make waves about the breach. Rise above it and be the better person and all that. None of this is a part of our Intuitive Voice. The Intuitive Voice is our higher self. Our purest most authentic core place inside, underneath all of those externalized messages. The Intuitive Voice doesn’t come out swinging, but neither does it deny what it is feeling. The Intuitive Voice is our place of discernment. To trust it is to trust our own knowing in spite of what someone else might be saying.
Sitting with these two things; my unexpected feelings of protection towards sharing the two page synopsis I’d sent off to the publisher, juxtaposed against the post I read, stirred up some of those old internalized messages of my own. Not sharing what I’ve written the moment that I wrote it, stirred up a feeling of selfishness. A big one so many of us will recognize as artists, as women, as people; the insipid underlying whispering accusation of who do you think you are? and it’s companion accuser for those of us with a bit of hick in our lineage, getting too big for your britches there aren’t you missy?
When we gaslight ourselves out of feeling our legitimate feelings and prioritizing our own needs, we are effectively silencing our Intuitive Voice. These are the internalized messages that follow us into the studio and become the voice of the art critic, forming the blocks that prevent us from believing in our work and reaching our highest potential.
I labored over my writing to polish it up the best I could in the time I had left before the deadline. This feeling I had of protecting a newborn baby suddenly made sense to me. Eventually I’ll be sharing it all with the outside world, but this just born thing, not even the full book yet, just a tiny infant of its grown self, is worthy of protecting. Allowing myself the room to decide how much and when to share isn’t being selfish. It is being honest with myself and discerning my own needs.
I’ll still be posting that excerpt in a few days for the subscribers at the membership tier. I liken this to bringing the infant home and allowing the close friends and family members to visit, before introducing that baby to the world at large when it has a stronger immune system.
So in keeping with a somewhat corny metaphor, this is my birth announcement; Born at the 11th hour, right in the nick of time, my baby is tender and still growing. I’ll be showing it off soon enough. In the meantime thank you all for being here to help me celebrate.
Congratulations on the new baby. I look forward to meeting her when she's ready for the world.