As I strolled through The Getty, I was drawn to the painting Irises by Van Gogh. This painting was created while Van Gogh was at an Asylum in his final year of life. He never intended for this painting to be something put up in the Getty centuries after his passing, this was created because painting was something that was a part of him. He was in the middle of a process, and in his process, we see a masterpiece. We never know what our process will bring to others; our words, stories, perspective, music, artwork, hugs, tears, laughter, photography, that will inspire and support others.
At one point, I would say being a perfectionist was one of my greatest attributes. Those who worked around me could depend on me to get any job done at the highest capacity and with great quality. I’ve learned, this is a dream killer. I create beautiful pieces that never see the light of day because of this need for it to be perfect. Last night as I freely wrote, the topic of not feeling "good enough" showed up and brought tears to my eyes. Where are these deeply rooted false statements and how do I let them go?
A friend's mother Rebecca, whom I have come to know her as Mother of Santa Cruz came over to my side. She saw my struggle and sat down next to me. She doesn’t suffer from being a perfectionist so it was very easy for her to see a different pathway. She knows I am a writer and so do I.
What have I published, nothing? How many books have I written, none that have met the public’s eye? A blog, sure that happened, but didn’t feel complete so I scratched it. Oh there she goes again Miss Perfectionist, killing the dream before it even has a moment to evolve into anything.
I write everyday. Some of these pieces I write are so magical and beautiful, but I question what in the world to do with them. How will I ever make a living following a passion of words? I hear fear and excuses at every corner. Rebecca challenged me to write at a 92% instead of the probably 150% I attempt to accomplish. She said simply write, publish and keep the writing going. The logistical side of me comes up with all the reasons my work is not ready to fly into the webspace, but what the hell. I have a little over a month to go in Santa Cruz and I would like to challenge myself to post, (everyday – eek) okay at least once a week. I’m not sure what the exact number is, but this week I will sit down and write, post and move on.
After my enchanted evening at Rebecca’s house, and my deep conversation about the Perfectionist imprisoning the artist within, I woke up in the middle of the night needing to see my writings. I read the pieces I have been collecting for the past few months and they are like this beautiful collection of artwork that have been locked away by fear.
A little sleepy and unsure how to begin my dedication to get my words out to the “world”, I decided to write about the struggle. You just have to start somewhere, so why not right here and now. I have been learning that in order to hold myself accountable, I must take risks such as announcing out-loud that I will make my dream happen. Stop chasing the dream and simply, live it. So today I say to whoever wants to hear, I am an Artist of Words and I will share those words as they flow through me.