Reinvention

painting over a recent work – ringleader – work in progress.

I suppose it’s progress of some kind. Painful, awkward, gut-wrenching progress, to be thankful for in the evolution of self and soul and body of work. It turns me inside-out. It lays me at the side of play, watching helplessly as others effortlessly glide by – doing their thing with no apparent discomfort.

Sometimes I love what I do. It could be completely pedestrian and uninspired, but on that day I feel like I’ve kicked arse. Other days I look at something I did, showed, perhaps sold and feel like I’ve cheated someone because I could do better today than I did then! Some works I feel immensely proud of but haven’t sold, and I wonder if it was time and place, taste, or if I am just hopeless.

I do think all of this is a natural process. It’s not a delightful experience though, and it’s something gallery viewers never see (and they shouldn’t), when they look at a piece and wonder if it will match their decor. Absurdly enough the discomfort is a gift to the artist, evolution (or devolution sometimes), a personal journey that gives its own gifts in richer work, bolder stories, or a new viewpoint.

If only it wasn’t so uncomfortable.