While I use social media to promote my art, my snobby side tends to feel the marketing work is “beneath me”– a waste of good old fashioned easel time!
The thing I often fail to recognize, is the absolute exhilarating benefit of the accountability social media lends me.
I do not require an audience to paint. In fact, I would be quite content to paint alone in a room where no person ever trod and no eyes ever ventured. Yet, the fear of failing can quite dampen and slow my productivity on a regular basis. As I have gained a small group of friends and followers on Instagram and Facebook, I feel the weight of their expectations and also their joy at seeing art magically appear in their feed.
While I struggle to see anything but the failings of my work, genuine viewers greet my work with eagerness, and it lends me a burst of giddiness that helps to propel me to greater productivity.
It’s refreshing to see my work with new eyes, and I am so grateful for the love and support I receive. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Follow Me: @hhighfield
Wow. I am facing some serious “not good enough” stuff this week! It seemed to crop up after getting a spot in the (much coveted) Morgan Weistling painting workshop in Pasadena. At first I was just on the waiting list… which felt safe. But suddenly I get the email: “We’ve got a spot for you!”. And then… panic set in. And this is what it sounds like in my brain:
“Oh no. The website said this workshop isn’t appropriate for beginners… am I a beginner? My drawing skills still need serious work. But… I’ve been working on art for the last 5 years– I must not be a ‘beginner’ anymore!… Puh-leeze, you’re so lazy, you basically did nothing to improve your art in that time.”
And the voice goes on……. and on….. and on………….
The thing is, I want to be an artist because I love to make art. And (call me crazy) my self imposed emotional beatings makes the whole process a hole heck of a lot less fun.
I recently watched this video about that uncomfortable place just outside of comfortable where all the learning happens. But the scared part of my brain says “beginner” like it’s a bad thing. Because I want to be there, in that uncertain place where I am eagerly trying and failing with such gusto that I’m always moving forward.
So essentially, I am still a “beginner.” But always want to be a beginner, even if I become the cat’s pajamas, I want to think like a beginner. Always risking, stepping into the unknown, moving forward. I always want to be the worst artist in a classroom so that I have huge leaps to grow before moving to the next level.
Here’s some Morgan Weistling work to blow your socks off: