If you are a creative, you know the beautiful rush of some piece of work coming together in a way that not only pleases you but even thrills a little—or a lot. I live in pursuit of this feeling and am so grateful that I get to feel it often enough to keep me going. It's what drives what you see when I post work on social media, or share elsewhere, or when something shows up in someone's beautiful little shop somewhere; the things that worked. But can we talk about the fails? Oh, such fails. To wake up with a juicy idea, relish in planning it out, getting really, really excited and setting to work. Going and going for hours and finally, wah, wah, the reality emerges and must be acknowledged: it's awful. I might turn it around and around in my hands, as if I just need to find the angle where maybe it's not? Maybe I need to step back and try to be impartial? Nope, it's just not working. An owner/operator issue, i.e. execution? Just a bad idea? All of the above? Regardless, the dispiriting and harsh tumble from Mt. Dopamine, where all great ideas live, commences.
This is the invisible side of the artistic process—what doesn't appear on a any wall or shelf or body in full view; what gets swept away or stepped over en route to the next pursuit. We know that failure is required for growth (blah blah), but let's acknowledge that it's also painful; a sharp stab in the delirious buoyancy of perceived competence.
Luckily, there is no shortage of air. So we steadily breathe, and rise, until we are buoyant once again.
Happy mid-winter all.
warmly,
Ellen