One of my best pals gave me 48 hours to write my first blog post. Ugh…the cursor is just winking at me, taunting me while I stare at the monitor and play with my cat, Paulie Bleeker. (48 hours? Really?)
Okay, just begin….
See that photo of me up at the top (and bottom) in the purple racing suit? Beginning this blog, or this website, or my Etsy shop for that matter, feels a lot like that did - the standing on the starting block. I’m 7 or 8 years old in that picture. Well prepared, yet terrified.
In fact, and this hurts a little saying this, sometimes before races, I would cry and retreat to the brick wall of the building that stood firmly behind the starting blocks. I literally, would clutch at that wall in tears.
(Note: my family actually has an 8mm film entitled, “Jane Climbs the Wall”. Hostile humor at it’s best, but I digress.)
Yet always, somehow, I found myself on the block, toes curled over and gripping the edge of it, waiting for the starting gun. After I dove into the water, I would hold my breath and swim like hell to the end of the pool - eye on the prize. I was actually pretty good for my age. It was actually fun. Once I got past the fear. Once I "leaned in", as they say. There were even trophies, medals, and ribbons.
THIS feels like that. Beginning to take my art seriously feels like that. It's why I've used that image of me in the purple suit twice already in my art. It feels the same at 7 years and 54 years old. It’s no different, just facing a fear. .. just a matter of divin’ in and getting on with things.
Like facing a blank canvas, or an open lane in the pool.
And nothing will happen, unless I decide to dive in.
Or in this case, hit that "post" button at the top of the page....
Okay, just begin….
See that photo of me up at the top (and bottom) in the purple racing suit? Beginning this blog, or this website, or my Etsy shop for that matter, feels a lot like that did - the standing on the starting block. I’m 7 or 8 years old in that picture. Well prepared, yet terrified.
In fact, and this hurts a little saying this, sometimes before races, I would cry and retreat to the brick wall of the building that stood firmly behind the starting blocks. I literally, would clutch at that wall in tears.
(Note: my family actually has an 8mm film entitled, “Jane Climbs the Wall”. Hostile humor at it’s best, but I digress.)
Yet always, somehow, I found myself on the block, toes curled over and gripping the edge of it, waiting for the starting gun. After I dove into the water, I would hold my breath and swim like hell to the end of the pool - eye on the prize. I was actually pretty good for my age. It was actually fun. Once I got past the fear. Once I "leaned in", as they say. There were even trophies, medals, and ribbons.
THIS feels like that. Beginning to take my art seriously feels like that. It's why I've used that image of me in the purple suit twice already in my art. It feels the same at 7 years and 54 years old. It’s no different, just facing a fear. .. just a matter of divin’ in and getting on with things.
Like facing a blank canvas, or an open lane in the pool.
And nothing will happen, unless I decide to dive in.
Or in this case, hit that "post" button at the top of the page....