Tonight an exercise in thinking outside the box. I am someone who has spent their entire life trying to do things the “right” way, for the most part I have been successful. I’ve touched on this subject once before, many, many blogs ago. That need to be right and do right interferes with my creative process. When you are a person who is compelled to follow the rules, creativity, which by nature has no rules, can be difficult. Obviously I have skills in traditional art, I can draw, I can paint, but what I can’t do is get past my own limitations on the “right” way. It is an issue that I struggle with on a continuing basis. Paintings that get ruined because I think they aren’t “right” or “perfect” enough, so I change something organic and beautiful into a muddied mess. I’ve completed only a few other altered art projects along the way in this blog, and tonight decided it was time to face my demons once again. I look at the altered art pieces of other artists and absolutely love them, in fact I think the more nonsensical the piece the more I love it. There’s a childlike freedom in altered art. I would define it as art before you were told what art was “supposed to be”. Composition is of course as always important, but other than that there is freedom of expression, sort of “everything including the kitchen sink” art. I have several photographs of my grandmother Florence, that I love. The one in this project is from a costume party when she was seventeen. The original is in sepia tones so I colorized it in Photo shop. An old tin box from some postcards (recycling once again!), a photo of the window that faced our apartment in Paris, a couple of my multitude of sky photos, and butterflies, lots of butterflies. I’m not finished, a day that found me with a bad headache once again, so the components are here, the pieces will come together in the morning. It’s coming along nicely, very different for me, and something I think I need to force myself to do more often to loosen me up a bit creatively speaking.
Home » Struggling with acceptance (Page 2)
Category Archives: Struggling with acceptance
A Life Reflected
Something I wrote last night sparked some interesting thoughts in my head today. Last night I made reference to my half painted canvas, which upon a coat of paint, was fully clothed. I thought a lot about that today. Sexuality is a subject that makes many people uncomfortable, not me. (Just ask my horrified children.) To be human is to be a sexual being. To give birth is a sexual experience. When I look at that “virginal” white canvas that I started with yesterday I cannot help but think how much life it gains when paint is laid upon it. I give birth to my art. It becomes vibrant and alive. Think about it. How much great art has been produced through the ages due to love, to lust, or because of frustration? The human condition immortalized in paint, in charcoal, in photograph. The Mona Lisa’s smile, the lusty vivacious work of Georgia O’Keefe, even the loneliness of strangers in a diner in Hopper’s “Nighthawks”. The virginal blank surface that has yet to experience life, it is the artist who is tasked to recreate emotion through color and image. The connection between the work and the artist as a human is singular. As I thought about these things today I realized that my own hesitancy, my own cautious approach to laying the paint upon a surface as a young artist has been replaced with a love for richness, for texture, for color. All reflective of the life already lived. I was timid in my younger self, afraid to put too much paint on the surface, afraid of revealing too much of myself. There is a confidence in aging, a wisdom that the young artist can never have. Even the most skilled artist as a youth will find that the work will grow as the life experience grows as well. Love, heartbreak, loneliness, regret, laughter, joy; the list of emotion is endless, the effect on the artist is immeasurable. I need to respect my own process, my own growth and life experience, to leave more of myself on the canvas.
Tonight a face. I love faces. I didn’t want to sketch a recognizable face, but to draw for practice, for the enjoyment. This is a woman who doesn’t exist, created by my hand.
Mission Accomplished!
Three days in and I’m finally finished with this project. As I said last night I will never be able to charge enough to cover the amount of time I’ve spent on this project, but I had a few mishaps along the way, as well as some areas where I rethought the way I was doing things. I’m pleased with the finished project. In all there are thirteen pages in this miniature accordion folded book. Each about the size of a business card. It has a velvet ribbon inside to keep the accordion in place, and the same ribbon to tie it shut. I’d really like to expand on this idea. The one I created for Dan has photos of us, and more personal notes and quotes. As I thought about the piece today I thought it would make the perfect vehicle for a romantic proposal. I may offer them with blank pages for personalization, places for photos, song lyrics, anything that someone might want to add to make it a really special gift.
I admittedly have still not really bitten the bullet and put any of my art up for sale. Dan and I talked about my artistic insecurities again this morning. I really don’t understand what’s fueling these feelings at this point. I’ve produced a lot of work I love including what I did tonight, but I can’t seem to shake the insecurity. I’ve mentioned before that I’m a good cook, actually a really good one. Last night we had dinner at the winery. My food was good, not great, but considering how fussy I can be it was really good. I got up this morning determined to recreate last nights meal, only better. I didn’t hesitate, it never once occurred to me that I couldn’t do it, I recreated that dish and it was better. I am completely fearless in the kitchen. I want that fearlessness when I pick up a brush as well as a spatula. I’m going to put at least five pieces up tomorrow. I need to force myself to get over the hump. I know that as I move forward there will be judgement and rejection, it’s part of the game. I just need to find that belief in myself so that what anyone else thinks won’t matter so much.
Old Habits Die Hard
Bad day today. Still battling something, not sure what, but woke at four with a headache, then again at five, and finally gave up at about six fifteen this morning. Worse yet I was battling some inner demons. Remember “not good enough”, the evil little tormentor that resides inside my brain? Well he made a return appearance today. I haven’t heard from him in a while, but he must have managed to slip out of his hiding space while my head was pounding. I started out the day investigating print and matte prices in order to sell my work. I was feeling confident, and artistically self-assured. I took a break to take Brian to urgent care. (Sitting in a cesspool of illness I’m sure did a lot for my already not feeling good self) I came home with an even more horrible headache. I decided to look at local art groups with the idea of joining one. I began to look at the work of some of the members, and worse yet began to look at their credentials. That’s when the self-doubt began to creep in. I read the educational pedigrees of these artists and felt inadequate. I thought I was past the chip on my shoulder, but I think maybe I had just learned to turn a deaf ear to the voice inside my head. Today it was loud and clear reminding me that I have had no training. Shortly after that exercise in self-destruction I began to organize my work from this project. I opened a separate file on my computer and began to sort through what I felt was “good” work, and copy those pieces into that file. I came up with forty-eight. I have been working on this project since the thirteenth of April and could only come up with forty-eight pieces that I felt were worthy. I went to Dan and told him how disappointed I was in myself. He immediately disagreed, and told me how much he admires what I have been doing, and that the work was good. After I talked to him I revisited my work, the number grew to one hundred and four. I have come to understand that my new-found artistic confidence is more fragile than I realized. I need to remind myself every day that I have talent, that not every piece will be perfect or turn out the way I want it to. It was a long struggle to get where I am, I’m not willing to lose the progress I’ve made. Tonight I attempted a watercolor portrait that honestly I am not that happy with. It falls under the “I should have left well enough alone” category. It seemed to be headed in the right direction, and then…self-doubt. Not good enough, add more paint, try to subtract more paint (tough with watercolor), in the end I added ink, in the end I think I should have left it alone. Tomorrow is a new day, a day to start over and remember that confidence I was building. One step back, two steps forward.
Going Old School
New Year resolution number three: Post blog earlier. I have promised this on a number of occasions, but it just never seems to happen. I let too many other things to get in the way. Today I took care of some very important things, but then I made time, daylight time, for art. The result? Probably one of the best things I’ve done in a while, and I did it “old school”. By that I mean in a continuation of the last few days of painting without thinking too much about it, or obsessing over whether what I am doing is “wrong” or “right”, I just painted. Think of it like a small child. Children have no in-habitations. No one has told them yet that they have to be deadly serious all the time, or not find joy in the silly things. I was like that when I began to paint all those years ago. Without someone to tell me I was wrong, I painted for the sheer joy of it. It was only when I did try to take art in college that I was told I didn’t know what I was doing. It’s why I switched majors. I lost the freedom of expression that came in those early days. I became hung up on the rights and wrongs, the lack of art lessons, and in general my self-esteem, which while not great in everyday life, was stellar compared to my artistic self-confidence. I am three-quarters of the way through this year-long project, and it is without a doubt one of the best things I have ever done for myself. I am feeling confident in my work, and have lost the chip that occupied my shoulder for far too long. Today I truly went old school. I sat on the floor and painted. It’s how I began painting, sitting on an attic floor in our Chicago Bungalow, not enough light streaming through the window, but it was my space to paint, and that made me happy. I have two standing easels. One is large and heavy, Dan bought it for me at an antique store years ago. It was downstairs in our home, and I didn’t want Dan to go to the trouble of bringing it up. The other broke earlier today. It fell over several times yesterday. I kept knocking it over as I cleaned. This afternoon I grabbed my palette, paints, brushes and water (I was painting in acrylic), and sat on the floor, my canvas leaning against a bookcase. I turned on my music and painted just as I did when I was a teen. Two and a half hours flew by. I was happy and content. I think it shows in the work. The painting is of a tree I have often admired when down at the shore in La Jolla. I was there one evening as the sun was setting and snapped a few photos. I’ve often thought of painting one of the photos. I love the color, and hope I have done it justice.
Hanging On
Standing on the edge, afraid to jump. That’s me. We went to look at commercial rental properties today and the enormity of our dream slapped me in the face. I’ve been dreaming of opening my own business for more than twenty years, and now that it could become a reality I feel the ghost of “not good enough” filling my brain with doubt. All these months of planning, and suddenly I feel clueless. I started the morning excited and ended it feeling nauseous. I think it’s time once again to have a good talking to myself. It certainly isn’t the work I’m in fear of. I strangely enjoy physical labor. It isn’t that I don’t have the intelligence or qualifications, and it isn’t that I have any doubts about working side by side with my husband every single day. I’ve spent so much of my life making sure everyone around me is happy. I have spent very little time or effort trying to do it for myself, and here it is, my dream, my happiness, my future, and I just don’t know how to do it. I started this post with “standing on the edge”, I think I feel more like I’m holding onto the edge and afraid to pull myself up. There is the chance of failure on the other side and I think that’s what I fear most. This project was the first baby step towards building a life for myself now that my kids are older, but when I think about opening our business it begins to feel like I went from first steps to marathon running. I’ve spent the day worrying, which I know won’t solve anything, but at least I know I’m good at it.
Not much in the way of art tonight. My brain is in a state of panic. Just me hanging on and hoping to pull myself up.
Two Steps Backward
I have an unfinished project for tonight. I feel bad habits forming. A few months ago I declared freedom for orphaned art that was in my studio. I vowed to rescue them and bring them to completion. I have done that with a few, but as I near the middle of this year-long project, I realize that I now have more unfinished work than when I began. That is not good. I knew earlier today that I would have difficulty getting to a project because of other plans. We drove to our daughter’s apartment to spend some time with Jessica and her husband, and to enjoy a lovely dinner. (Thank you Jessica. It was delicious!) I set out for the day with my art box of pens, pencils and charcoal, but forgot to bring my sketchbook. Jessica was kind enough to give me some paper, and I decided to create another book-plate, but chose to do a very intricate design that I didn’t have the time to complete. In other words I have a perfectly legitimate excuse for not getting finished tonight. As for the other projects? I simply have fallen back into putting what is important to me at the end of the line. Dan and I were discussing my project yesterday, and I pointed out that I didn’t give myself a day off at all for this project. With the exception of one of the several days that I had pneumonia, I have written and worked every single day since April 13th. My brother-in-law is an artist, I’m sure even he takes days off, and as Dan pointed out, it’s all his brother does, its his job. I on the other hand still cook two to three times a day, clean house, do laundry, garden, do the family grocery shopping, and numerous other projects around the house. There is also trying to reach out to my Dad several times a day by phone to help with his loneliness, to schedule help for him, and to let him know what is on television that might fill his time. There are so many projects that I have started at the last-minute, written about and posted half done, fully intending to finish them, but then they get pushed to the back of the line the next day. Tomorrow I will take stock of what is done, what is half done and prioritize my life. I also need to raise the white flag and ask for help. I try to do everything for everyone I love. I need to remember to love myself a little as well. Finally, I really need to ask myself if I haven’t fallen back to the worst habit of all, doubting myself and my abilities. I haven’t written too much about “not good enough” in a while, or about my fear of being judged, but I need to look at myself in the mirror and face the truth about what is really going on here. I hate to go back to the dieting metaphor, but much like when I am tired and give myself an excuse to eat too much, I am finding excuses to not finish the work. Why is it so easy for us to ignore our own needs? My halfway point arrives this weekend, time to take control once again and give myself permission to have the artistic life I deserve. 
A Storm Of Color
As always, unsure of what I would create today, I decided to revisit my fourteen year old self. Back before I knew there were rules that applied to painting. Back to a time when I painted for the sheer joy of putting paint on a canvas. No subject matter in mind I simply began to layer the paint on, thickly at first, then dissatisfied, scraping away the paint frustrated at my inability to know what it was I looking for. Aside from my struggles with perspective, my greatest failing as an artist is my inability to transmit what is in my head onto a canvas. There are times when I see a shadow of an idea, but lack of completion of the thought. I don’t believe it is something that can be taught, its instinctive. I truly believe that it comes from the daily practice of brush to canvas. It is what I intended those many months ago when I began to transform this project from its original platform of simply using up what I had on hand, to a transformation of my artistic self. To become a fully developed artist, to understand who I am as an artist, and to find that elusive confidence that I have lacked for so long. I have without a doubt seen signs of what I can achieve, I have discovered new ways of creating art that I truly love, but I still find myself searching for my artistic identity. I am capable of incredible likeness in portrait drawings and paintings, and six months ago that perfectionism was what I thought I wanted and needed, that is no longer the case. I believe there is more to me than that. My Dad has on occasion volunteered my talents. I have done the portraits of children I’ve never met, and even after a printer failed to come through on an order, replicated the logos and business ads for and entire booklet for a fundraiser. (Needless to say, not happy about that one!) I would complain and say, “I’m not a copy machine.” Yet here I was months ago bemoaning my want for perfection. No longer. Photography has it place. It produces the exact image of its subject. What I have failed to understand is that art is more than a representation, it is an emotion. I want to feel about my subject, and I want you to feel when you view it. What happened tonight was a scraped canvas that caused a reaction, a feeling in me. Colors that jumped off a canvas begging to be repainted. It’s a solitary work, I am a solitary woman, you can see that in much of what I do with a brush and a camera. It was very windy here today, I’ve also been hearing much about hurricane Karen. I didn’t think tonight, I painted. Troubled skies, and uncertain seas, maybe my mind is on the canvas after all.
Quitting While I’m Ahead
No, I’m not quitting my blog, or abandoning my project. What I am referring to is my project tonight. I wrestled with the devil, by that of course I mean perspective, and I caved. I am in the midst of planning a birthday gift for my Dad’s eighty-first birthday, which is a week from Thursday. It involves many photos of his favorite subject, which happens to be him. I feel slightly guilty making fun of him since he isn’t feeling well, but he has a great sense of humor, and I kid because I love, and he loves…himself…I really can’t help myself. I’ve mentioned the Natalie story (for those of you who may be unaware, short story is I look like my Dad, so I look like Natalie Wood. His idea, not mine). If you are as old as me, or have studied ancient history, you know that at one time in the history of man telephones were attached to walls, and had cords…gasp! Imagine being a teenager and wanting to talk to your boyfriend, you would stretch that curly cord until it was a straight as possible as you pulled it taut to get around a corner, out of parental earshot. My Dad pulled it tight as well, not so that we couldn’t hear him, but so that he could look at himself in the bathroom mirror as he talked. We of course, being the family of merciless critics that we are, made fun of him for it. He didn’t even try to deny it. He would just get a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Back to our regularly scheduled project…my painting for this evening. As I was looking at all the old family photos on my computer I came across one of my Mom that I love. In 1957 my Mom and Dad were married in Toronto, Canada, and had their honeymoon at Niagara Falls. It was really beautiful then, of course the Falls still are, but the area around them hadn’t yet been developed by Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, and Madame Tussaud’s, and the endless souvenir and t-shirt shops. In this particular photo my Mom, who never had a shred a of confidence looks like the coolest chick around. She was really cute. My Dad, not so much at the time. He grew into a handsome Clint Eastwood look a like later in life when he actually gained a little weight. I told my Mother that she was way too cute for him, thankfully she didn’t share my opinion or I obviously wouldn’t be here. I’ve never been the “cool chick”, I was the clumsy chick, the nerdy chick, the artistic weirdo (my Dad, once again), I was never a cheerleader, or a sorority girl, I was just me, always striving to Never be like anyone else. Being an individual is important to me and always has been. My Mom looks like she could be Rizzo from Grease in this photo, or at the least one of the Pink Ladies. I never saw her that way, I saw a lonely, very wounded woman. I like looking at this picture of her and thinking about a time in her life when she felt empowered, or at the very least that she thought she looked really cool.
In high school one of my artistic classmates did a painting of herself and her little brother using only shades of gray, with the exception of a fish, the fish was painted green. I loved it, still do when I think about it. I always wanted to do a painting in those shades, I think hers was oil, mine is watercolor. It was a little more difficult with my watercolors, but it captures the essence of my Mom. Where I quit was the background. I mapped it all out, sketched it in, it was an elaborate cement rail with pillars, and I screwed it up again! Watercolor isn’t always the most forgiving medium, had it been oil or acrylic I could have fixed it, so I quit while I was ahead. I liked the way the figure looked, and quite frankly was afraid I would ruin the painting. Perspective-1, Me-0. It doesn’t mean I’m giving up the fight, just the round.
For Mom
It’s early evening here in Temecula and I haven’t attempted anything new for the day. Busy work in the garage, and to be honest a little stressed about stuff I can’t seem to let go of. There is also this, I know I mentioned it earlier in the month, but today is the sixth anniversary of my Mom’s passing. Never an easy day. I inherited “not good enough” from her. She never realized how fantastic she was. I am hoping that this project will eventually free me from myself, and maybe in some way she will gain something through me. I also realize that my daughter has a hint of the “not good enough” and I want to vanish it from her life too.
Speaking of “not good enough”, I mentioned it last night, and boy was it back this morning. I worked on Kelsey this morning because I wasn’t happy about it last night. The other issue is that I wait so long in the day to work that by the time I’m finishing up its dark outside, and I’m tired, and I don’t work with enough light…excuses, excuses, but all true. The stuff I can’t let go of? Perfectionism. I wrote last night of how Kelsey’s portrait didn’t give me any trouble. That was then, this is now. I worked that little baby’s portrait over and over, I almost ruined it by dropping a big blob of water on her poor little face. I finally put it down. I spoke to my daughter Jessica about it later in the morning. She said, “Mom, if they just wanted a picture they’d take one.” She’s right. I need to get it through my stubborn Irish skull that I’m not a Xerox machine (if you are too young to know what that is, google it!) I am an artist, I am evoking a feeling, or an essence, not a Sear’s portrait. I took on the garage stuff today because I needed to shake this off. I was doing so well, progressing and feeling confident. I’m not sure what happened that set me back…ding! Light bulb just went off. Most of the art I have been producing these last few months wasn’t for anyone. There were one or two pieces for Dan and Theresa, but they are like my other halves. It is because it is for someone else. My new family. Do I think they are going to get the portraits and put a big red check in the middle, or publish a bad review in the local paper, of course not. But I’m me, and I want them to love the portraits of their children. I’m sure they will, because this isn’t about them, it’s about me and my issues. I’m sure I’m slightly insane, and that all will be well. I just have to remember that “not good enough” is very sneaky, and will find the crack in the door if I leave it open even the slightest bit.
Two hours later…
I talked to Dan about how I was feeling, and of course his words pretty much echoed Jessica’s. I was in fear of being judged, thus the “revisiting”. Finally I just began to cry. It’s a hard enough day, and I make it harder on myself. In the midst of all of it another light bulb moment. There is always a root for every problem, and sometimes the person who planted it doesn’t even realize they are doing it. When I was a little girl, and had already begun to show talent, my dad handed me a photo of John Kennedy and asked me to draw it for him. In my recollection I was around five, but at the very least I was seven, because I still remember where I was sitting when he asked. He walked away and I cried because I didn’t know how to draw that picture and I didn’t want to let him down. Who knows what he was thinking. It’s a sad memory, but Dan said at least now I know where my lack of confidence started. Maybe I should rename the blog “365 Days to Psycho Analyze Yourself”, lots of stuff going on in my head these days. I want to say right now to my two children, if I have ever said something that made you think you weren’t good enough, I’m sorry. You have both always been amazing and the joy of my life.
Tonight, something for my mother. When she died her coffin was covered in yellow roses ordered by my dad. I don’t remember yellow roses being her favorite flower, they are his. I know that because my mom told me so. I remember lilacs, and that she smelled like Heaven Scent when I was young. I had some small pieces of wood, left overs from something, they aren’t even cut straight. Lilacs in acrylic on wood. Love you Mom.
jacquelinezuckerman's Blog 