Willing to struggle

When I started painting, one in four paintings turned out how I wanted it to. That number has gone up until three out of four. That's really encouraging, because when I'm not able to create what I have envisioned, my inner critic starts singing in delight: "Told you so: you are a disappointment."

That voice is hard to endure, especially when you have spent most of your life believing it.

I could stay at this level in my art forever. It would be nice and comfortable. 
I like nice and comfortable. Like napping with my cats. Very nice, very comfortable. I thought this was what I was working towards. Apparently it is not. Surprisingly, there is another need in my heart.
I noticed there is an ambitious side to me. Ha. Interesting for someone whose biggest need is the feeling of safety.

So here I am, sitting in my new studio, surrounded by unpacked boxes, dreaming of the art that I want to make next. The problem is, I don’t know what it will look like. I know what I want it to feel like, but I have no idea how to go about getting there. That’s scary, because it means being bad at something all over again. I hate being bad at things. I prefer not even starting something if I’m not sure I’ll nail it.

A dilemma: accepting that I’ll be making ugly paintings for a while, in an attempt to get to the next level. Or ignoring that voice in my head that believes that I could grow as an artist.

I bet you already know what my choice will be. Now that I’ve discovered how happy this art thing makes me, there’s no stopping me. Not even fear will hold me back.

So I’ll be making ugly stuff in the months to come, hoping it will provide me with information on how to move forward.

It will be brutal. I will despair, doubt myself (and my sanity), curse occasionally, and maybe even consider to stop painting. I’m not looking forward to it. I might need your words of encouragement.

But I promise you, and I promise myself, that, no matter how brutal, I will come out the other side of this struggle.