I am struggling to write this letter, and I am not exactly sure why. There has been an extraordinary spurt of growth - a return to the rhythm of the studio, a daily walk to center myself and my thoughts, an engaged and excited group of students for my Walking as Meditation course. And yet, I have been sitting up staring at a blank space unable to gather the thread for this letter. It is probably mostly because what feels real in my heart is not what I want to say publicly. I am editing before I even start.
I had the experience this week of working in the studio and feeling energized and strong. It began to feel nourishing again. I remembered the wisdom of making, of using painting to explore, to create, to attune with my soul. It felt empowering.
This came on the heels of a rejection for an artist residency for the Clyfford Still Museum. This rejection stung - not because I think I am the only or best applicant, but because I know my application was very good and that I have an important perspective to contribute. And it felt that I was not seen. That hurts. It brought to the surface the things I hate about this path of being an artist. There is so much centered around gaining recognition and garnering support that feels absolutely irrelevant and not in alignment with what I know to be true about making art and being an artist. I am not good at navigating these two worlds. This can bring up a whole host of self-doubt.
There is a fierceness and irrationality that is required for being an artist. It makes absolutely no sense in terms of the world. The level of self-confidence and stamina required to keep creating is extraordinary. Sometimes I have it in spades. And sometimes I think choosing to be an artist was the most ridiculous choice I could have made.
And all of this sits amidst loss. There is the loss of my dad. And I think this evokes other losses, opening up the strata of a lifetime of losses - big and small. Against the backdrop of our distanced and disconnected culture, I feel the space of absence. Something happened in 2020 that broke a level of connectedness that I still feel the ripples of. The norm to become connected only through our screens and not face to face feels like a profound loss to our humanity. I think this is why it was hard for me to face writing this letter. I wanted to only share the strength of my time in the studio this week. I wanted to share only the good things. But I knew, this is not real. The whole picture right now is both - deep waves of loss and extraordinary moments of aliveness and creating.
It is a hard space to hold both.
Until next Friday!
Be well, breathe, read, and make some art!
Jen