"Earth" photo by pschubert
There are times - no matter how strong we are, how successful or talented, we wonder if what we are doing really matters.
But take a moment.
Just sit in silence and imagine the world.
Imagine it spinning, with the outlines of all continents, the oceans.
Now think about the people who have purchased your art. See pinpoints of light shining in the dark, lighting up in the cities where these people live.
Think about the visitors to your website, for 10 seconds or 10 minutes, it doesn't matter. They saw something in your art that intrigued them, caught their attention. Held meaning. See their lights flickering on, blooming out around the world.
Think about the readers of your blog. Those who just scan the hadline, others who comment, even those who disagree with what you have to say. See their lights.
Think about those you help through the sale of your artwork. The galleries, salespeople, framers. The people who create your magazine ads or work behind the scenes on the juried shows. I support Kiva with every art sale, so I see lights blinking on in Mongolia, Peru, El Salvador, Kenya, Turkey, Cambodia, on and on.
Think about the random acts of kindness you perform, the donation in the red kettle outside the department store, the extra large tip you left the harried waitress who still managed to refill your coffee, the artwork you donated to the pre-school fundraiser.
More lights, flickering on.
You, your thoughts about art, your creative energy - more powerful and full of meaning than you think.
Just look at that earth shining in light.
"I just purchased and read your book. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate the info and will be following up on your blog. I turned 50 this year. I started my art career 3 years ago. I read as many art business and marketing books as I can but yours is the first I have found addressing starting out at 50." ~ RT, OregonAncient Wisdom Emerging Artist: the business plan (not just) for the mature artist
I was recently reminded of a Taoist (pronounced Dow-ist) fable. There was a farmer, Old Sai, who had a horse to help him plow the fields, but one day the horse ran away. All the village came to console the farmer on his loss, and the farmer said, "Good luck, bad luck, who knows?"
A few days later the horse returned, bringing with him several wild horses. Everyone in the village gathered around the farmer and congratulated him on his good fortune. But the farmer said, "Good luck, bad luck, who knows?"
The farmer's son decided to train one of the new horses, but was thrown to the ground, breaking his leg. Again the villagers came to console the farmer, who only shrugged and said, "Good luck, bad luck, who is to know." War broke out, and all the able-bodied men and boys went off to fight. All were killed in battle except the farmer's only son, who had remained behind because of his broken leg. When the villagers came to sadly congratulate the farmer he again merely nodded, and said, "Good luck, bad luck, who is to know."
This story is often used by business motivation experts, but it resonates with me because it describes my studio experiences. At any given hour my painting will have a "good luck" or "bad luck" point of view. Take, for example, my internal conversations that go something like this: "Brilliant block-in," followed a few hours later with "I can't believe you didn't see that design flaw." Believe me, it's a big relief to realize that over two thousand years ago, Taoist teachers were trying to get their pupils to understand the same thing - Yin Yang is everywhere.
The real difficulty in the Yin Yang aspect for me is that the more I learn, the more likely I am to identify with the villagers rather than the wise Old Sai. I notice when I've done what seems like a poor job. And because I notice, I want to fix it - which is just as likely to lead to more noticing of those bits and blobs that the fix has now thrown into obvious relief.
It's really quite frustrating.
But not hopeless. With hard work, teeth-grinding patience, and a friendly nudge from the Taoist teachers, it is possible to wait a few hours (no, oil paint won't dry) to decide if that oops isn't really a stroke of genius in disguise. Things are not always what they first appear to be - and in our fast-paced, highly competitive, being-in-the-moment artistic lifestyles, it's probably all right if you stop a few moments and just breathe.
For what it's worth, it is possible to adhere to high standards and take a patient approach. Chef Keith Floyd says this about cooking - which also applies to artists trying to follow the Taoist way:
"Cooking is an art and patience a virtue.. Careful
ingredients and an unhurried approach are nearly all you need.
There is one more thing.. love. Love for food and love for
those you invite to your table. With a combination of these
things you can be an artist." ( from Art Quotes )