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26 October Terrifying WhiteI have a slight fear of creating anything. Blank pages, whether they be in a journal, a sketchbook, or an online blog, present something terrifying (but desirable) to me. The first scratches of graphite onto a page bound to my sketchbook are very hesitant, and this because I intrinsically doubt my ability to create something of worth. Anything that I create and submit to the public eye is an avenue for criticism. Not that I fear criticism. Actually, I don't think a comment on where I could improve myself would be all that unwelcomed. What I fear more than that is being someone who speaks words that do not elicit a response. I don't like the idea of being unimpactful. If I draw something, I would like my abilities to be worthy of comment, and if not my talents, at least the subject which I chose to objectify and encapsulate in a sketch. If I share musings or the tormented process of some stretching mental activity, I would rather hear opposition or echoed sentiment than an echoing silence. I took a sketchbook with me today, very excited about the prospect of being able to create something my own again. I haven't done this for some time. However it is the end of the day and I haven't been able to put anything to paper. I hope to remedy this soon. I think I need to be a bit easier on myself and just make something. Anything. And really be okay with it being terrible. I shouldn't feel the need to explain away imperfection, because I'm not perfect and I can't expect to grow as an artist without being stretched. I need to do more than stare into the whiteness and get locked into some bizarre snow-blinded trance. A challenge I could, should, and I think will present to myself is this: no destruction of art. If i draw something in the sketchbook, there will be no ripping out of pages. There will be no apologizing or dancing around bad drawings. There will be no verbal defense against compliments (down-playing what is done well). I did this a while back with my poetry; the "notepad" program on my computer (you know, that little word processor that no one uses because it has no features) now has over 200 poems saved in its folder. Some of it is horrid, and some I'm actually quite partial to. when I first started typing out what I thought, I would delete a work the minute it was completed. I decided some time ago that I would stop allowing this- I have a no-deletion rule with myself and I'm glad for it now. I can trace my ideas, my frivolousness, my epiphanies back as far as my little .txt files will take me. I can see growth, emotion, ranting. Honesty- a good mirror into me. And really, why am I so proud and self-seeking that I feel a need to be continually seen as profound? My personal growth with God should be evident in how I live out my life and relate to people. If what I type up on the world wide web seems a bit irrelevant or uninteresting, I've harmed no one. At worst I've wasted maybe 3 minutes of a person's time, and they won't visit my blog again. I like to organize my thoughts. I like to be silly. I like to think up serious answers to ridiculous questions that nobody by myself would ever bother to ask. Hopefully though, when I'm done getting over my fear of blank pages (hoping its not a crippling fear this week- I'm sharing some of my poetry at C&C for the Worship Cafe) I can turn away from my little project and take note of the beautiful things that others are creating, intentionally or inadvertently. I think that art is only really relevant when it is created with a context broader than the insular mind of the artist. Interaction can be blissful or painful, but we're only really interesting when we're interested in others, I believe. Life is artful. Beautiful thing recently: A friend teaching me to stop hating grey days and go jump in a puddle. other irrational fear: watching the minutes change on a digital alarm clock. thoughts in my jumbled mind: Mirrors feed self-centric attitudes but also provide valuable information pertaining to necessary change. I want to be relevant in society. Books are good. Blank pages are opportunity. This is also good. I need to do my laundry. discovery: I have an interesting new physiological response to stress/panic. I don't like it. currently: lying on my bedspread (which is brown with white polka-dots), loving that it's 1:18 am and I'm not crying for sleep. TrackbacksThe trackback URL for this entry is: http://jillsparling.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!1ADFBBFB6400F612!966.trak Weblogs that reference this entry
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