The Murky Middle, Starting Again, and Other February Truths
What’s happened in the studio this month?
I think it’s fair to say February has fairly flown. All in agreement say “aye”. I say that partly to soften the blow of not having achieved quite as much art-wise as I’d hoped.
That said, I have moved forward with my little muse painting, Little Peeping Cat. I’m firmly in the murky middle now and, if I’m honest, feeling slightly dissuaded from continuing. Not because I don’t want to - but because I want the thrill of it being finished. And that is not imminent.
It’s a quandary.
There’s something about that dopamine hit of completion that’s hard to ignore. I know myself well enough to understand what needs to happen next. It may not be pretty between here and there, but it will be oh so worth it (for me) when I push through.
Starting Again (Even When It Hurts)
In the meantime, I did something slightly painful.
I painted over the original sketch and preliminary version that I showed you the last time and began again on a different canvas. This was not easy. I have an ongoing battle with the idea of “wasting time.” Intellectually, I know it’s not wasted at all. Trial and error is essential. Rinse and repeat when necessary. Growth rarely arrives in a straight line.
But try explaining that to the emotional self - the one who runs a website and a creative gift business alongside all this and feels the tick of a schedule in the background.
Still, I’m proud of myself for starting again.
The issue with the painting was positioning. The balance was off. I moved everything slightly to the right - not by much, but enough. I had known it from the beginning and doubted myself anyway. In the end, I realised I simply wasn’t listening to my gut.
Starting again felt freeing. Almost powerful. Especially when the second drawing worked.
The Doubt
Of course, doubt always tags along.
What if I can’t do it again?
What if the first attempt was a fluke?
What if it’s worse this time?
What if I fix one problem and create another?
I can drive myself quietly mad with it.
And yet, every time I return to the easel, I remember - the only way out is through. I'd cry if it wasn't so funny. Cry laughing maybe.
Meanwhile…
While deliberating over one painting, I have a queue of other ideas jostling for position. They are not orderly. They do not take turns.
There is also Parade Handmade, spinning its constant wheel of necessary tasks and small urgencies.
And - because I like to complicate matters - I bought a portable treadmill. (The first one didn’t arrive, which feels symbolic somehow.) The plan is to walk for an hour a day at home. Not dramatic fitness goals. Just gentle consistency. A way to clear my head without leaving the house and losing momentum for the day. Also a way of keeping fit without the drama.
If I go out, even briefly, I find it hard to settle back into painting mode. There are simply too many bits and pieces involved in getting started. So the idea is: walk, think, scheme, perhaps watch Miss Marple, Poirot, Columbo - or my current guilty pleasure, Man on the Inside with Ted Danson - (!Don't laugh, I know I'm not unique in this!), and then move straight to the easel.
I haven’t started yet. I’ll report back.
Wish me luck. Hmmm...
Back to Tango
I have worked steadily on my Tango painting this past month, and I can see the end in sight — though it’s not quite within reach. There are blog posts to write, emails to send, suppliers to pay, and always something calling for attention.
But I’m determined to clear the decks and return properly to it. Perhaps even have it completed by my next blog post.
Wish me luck again.
And thank you, as always, for reading these small, honest accounts of what’s unfolding here. I may not enthrall you right now. I'll be content with perhaps, midly amused.
Warm wishes until next time,
Amanda
