I’m not sure I should even say this.
Perhaps people will be surprised at what goes on inside my head.
I think people think I know what I'm doing.
And I'm pretty sure I won't be reading any comments or engaging in any discussion about this particular topic because...
Here’s the thing…
I hate my brushwork.
I’ve learned so much in the last 18 years. I know a lot. About composition. About color. But knowledge is not enough.
I see brushwork I like, but some artists won’t teach what they do, saying that everyone is unique and I should not try to be like them, but I should pursue my own style.
I see marks I like but other artists can’t teach me their marks because they don’t consciously know what it is they do. But they trust their hands. Or something.
Art is about seeing, and about technical skill.
I have painted a lot. I have loads of knowledge, but I still can’t see or touch the canvas with the right color or value or pressure. Especially when I’m anxious about the next mark.
A teacher recently put purple on a canvas in a landscape, and I just didn’t see it at all. I couldn’t follow the lesson, so I started a different painting. One I thought I could do.
Some one told me today that I’m not patient. Ouch.
It’s just that I think by now I should have been able to make friends with my marks. But I still hate them. I’ve been struggling with this for a long time. Years. It’s why I don’t paint flowers very often.
When I was a beginner, I looked ahead and assumed that I’d have broken through the frustration by now.
Still… Every single mark is a guess. An experiment, even. I look at my reference, then my palette, then the struggle begins to decide what to do next. Literally where to dip the brush next. What kind of mark to make next. It’s exhausting. And it’s not very fun. I have an art friend who says “Let her rip” when he starts a painting. And he does. But I just don’t know what that means.
I feel like there’s this whole universe of knowledge that I have no access to. No one can teach it to me. And I’ve never been able to discover it on my own.
It makes me want to quit.
It makes me not want to talk to other artists about art.
It makes me want to get a clerical job to take my mind off color and shape.
It makes me want to stop listening to podcasts with advice about art making.
It makes me want to sell all my materials.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. I always say that. I always make an effort to withhold judgement. I try to accept the level I'm on and try to assume things will be better in the next painting. But I’m never satisfied. And I don't have any idea how things will ever change.
And it’s not perfectionism, because I’m not afraid to show my work. Other people say they like my work. Occasionally I end up with a good painting without really knowing how I did it.
It’s really just the loss of hope that I’ll every spontaneously figure out consciously what I’m lacking. It’s the loss of hope that I’ll ever get over the fear of the next mark.
I just don’t enjoy mark making because I don’t like the marks I make. They aren’t free. Further, even when I do like a mark, guess what? I'm a painter, and usually the ones I do like I cover up as the painting progresses. It's the marks on the top layer that count, and those are the ones I fret about most.
The voice in my head says I should know more. I feel the teacher in my head is disappointed in me. That I should know things. That I should be able to make better, more attractive marks. Marks that other artists make with ease, but ones that torture me.
I wish I enjoyed making the marks. I wish I could enjoy the marks all the way through the painting.
It makes me want to quit. Not just stop. Quit.
Meanwhile my artist acquaintances seek out critiques for every single painting, and I believe they wonder why I don’t.
Until I’m satisfied I know how to make attractive marks, I feel I just don’t need critique on every single painting. I mean, painting is a huge emotional trial, and analysis overload just hurts my heart. Good values and beautiful color mean little to me when I hate my brushwork and the surface of my painting is just gross.
Unfortunately, I just don’t know what to do with my time if I’m not painting. I’d get another job, but doing what? I’ve made a huge investment of time into this … this … what? Hobby?
I reached out to an accountant one time for advice on doing taxes as an artist and she clearly stated that according to the IRS, I was a hobbyist.
There’s just a whole other level of artistry that seems out of reach to me. I've improved over the years, but maybe the level I'm on is it for me.
My eye grows (sort of) but my hand can not keep up. I can recognize it in other’s work. I just cannot make it through a painting without getting anxious or angry, and art making was supposed to help me lift that mental burden.
Art is supposed to be fun.
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