I was angry. I can’t even remember what I was angry about, except that it was something about my art.
I was at that point which most artists experience frequently–the one where I ask myself if I should even bother continuing painting–just give it up and spend the rest of my life watching reruns of Star Trek.
I turned and caught my breath. The sun was setting gloriously between trees, casting a shadow on the little garden shed and subtly highlighting the masses of bluebonnets.
I was still angry as I slapped the paper onto the foam board and taped it down. Still angry as I swiped color onto the paper. But by golly I was going to either prove I could paint or prove I couldn’t. Get back on that horse!
I laugh now, but it wasn’t funny at the time. Within a few more minutes, though, I was zoned in on solving the challenges of composition and color. The Spirit of art was healing me, comforting and consoling and encouraging me, as He always does.
There were struggles with this one even so. Yet I think in the end, it communicates what I wanted to say. I’m very grateful for my artist friends who offered helpful and kind suggestions resulting in a pleasing resolution.
And I’m still painting–at least until the next time I fail at whatever challenge I set myself.