Blossoms of an Artist

On Making Art I Hate

The longer I’m alive and the more I create, I am beginning to see that I’ll never make art I like unless I keep making art I hate.DSC01456

I don’t know if I’ve ever hated something I’ve made, but it has sometimes been difficult to have a glorious image of what it will look or sound like in my mind, only to fall short in being able to make that with my own limited hands. I think that’s the hardest part. The piece might not be terrible, but it isn’t what I wanted it to be. So, to me, it is terrible, because it’s a tangible reminder that I fall short.

For a long time, I let that feeling discourage me from making anything.

I would cut up magazine pages to make flowers because I had unused creative passion in me, but I didn’t want to paint, and I definitely didn’t want to try penning any lyrics. There are so many gifted artists in this world, in my own life, even, and it’s sometimes hard to believe that I have something worth listening to when there are a lot of people who could express it better than I can. Some already have. And I just don’t know where what I make fits into all these voices.

I’ve realized it’s okay if multiple voices speak the same thing.

A few unfinished paintings have been sitting around my easel for a while, shoved under a tablet of watercolor paper, me being completely uninspired to do anything more with them. But the past two days, two friends have visited my house. One painted with me as we watched a Spiderman movie, and told me as she looked around my nearly covered walls that she was getting inspired; the other asked about my art and what it meant, telling me she loved all of it. I didn’t know I needed to hear those things, but oh I needed to. Something in me just clicked into place, and I just keep making things. I just keep asking for inspiration, and finding it, because I’m looking. And because I say yes to using it.

I often fall into telling my soul, “Someone else will write a brilliant verse about that;” “Someone else would be able to portray that wondrously;” “I’m excited to see that when someone else makes it.” And over time, I’ve grown tired of hearing it. I’ve been choosing to just try, even if I won’t do as well as I think someone else might in making that thing the best it can be. If the inspiration happened inside me, who else can I ask to create it? Only the Lord and I get to see it when it stays walled up. And that is one of the biggest reasons I keep trying.

Yesterday, I finished the unfinished things. One had to be cut small and pasted onto a journal page. One kept wanting more, so I continued to mix colors throughout the day, trying to appease it, until it said, “Hey… maybe now I’m enough.” One was a surprise, starting out as an “I-don’t-want-to-waste-paint-so-let’s-just-smear-it-all-on-this-paper” piece but becoming a garden that made my mouth curve slightly upwards. And one… one just needed to be looked at a while longer, until I decided it was okay. None of them made me particularly excited, but I was so grateful to finally be making something, to finally breathe the rest of the life into the half-made things. And then…

He gave me three song ideas. Three. And I started all of them, and I felt alive again.

Music is my heart’s desire, so much so that it terrifies me and I need the people around me to continuously remind me not to run from it. But I haven’t written lyrics in so long, because there are poets and writers and singers so much more eloquent and gifted than I am. I fear deep in my bones that I am not good enough.

When all I need to do is say yes.

I ran with the inspiration, not away from it. I believed that maybe I can express at least some piece of what I see. And even if nothing became a glorious work, I worked gloriously because I said yes to doing it.

Those finished paintings from yesterday didn’t end up like my hopes for them; they weren’t wonderful. But because I had enough in me to say yes to making them, I said yes to the next inspiration, too. I spent hours on it today.

And I really, really like it.

I didn’t know if it would capture a bit of what I was seeing inside me. But I was willing to see, to give it a chance. And at the end, I backed away… and I caught a glimpse. My heart fluttered for a moment, and I just sat and stared.

I wouldn’t have this if I didn’t have the good-enoughs.

I wouldn’t be able to create what I love if I didn’t create what I hate sometimes, too.

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