Farewell to the January Fast

Sometimes doing the right thing means listening to your intuition and going in the direction that is opposite of what you want.

I had a great fast to end 2006 and I wanted to have a great fast to begin 2007.

I had a pretty good 3-day ramp in. My first day and a half of actual fasting were pure hell. I was freezing (the body naturally loses temperature when it is metabolizing less). That on top of the below freezing weather was proving a difficult feat even for the thickest of wool sweaters and socks.

It wasn’t really the cold, though; so much as it was the exhaustion. Saturday, I was useless. I kept falling asleep and just couldn’t get motivated. The 48-hour splitting headache didn’t help. By Sunday afternoon, I was in tears.

“I know you don’t wanna hear this, but I don’t think this is a good time for you to be fasting,” Adam gently offered.

I played tug-of-war with it for a couple of hours, but I knew he was right. I’m working far too hard to be fasting right now.

“But I need this now. It’s helps me find my balance.”

“You don’t need to fast to find balance. You can do that anytime. You know you can.”

Damn it.

So I made a pact with myself recently that I couldn’t start any new paintings until I had finished all of my ‘works-in-progress’. You see, with art, it’s easy and safe to label something unfinished. It protects you from any critiquing and even helps you deflect any compliments. For example:

“Nice work.”

“What? This? Oh, yeah it’s not finished yet.”

The problem with coming back to a painting, in particular, after a period of time is that it can prove a challenge to find and match up the color scheme. Paints may have run out or dried up. I got myself into trouble with one of my favorites. I ran out of one of the original colors and couldn’t find it in town anywhere and ended up schlepping up a portion of the painting in lieu of the fact.

Lesson? Be careful not to let things slide for too long as the original components may not stick around long enough for you to capture what you originally intended.

A friend, a fellow visual artist, was over Friday night. I had been painting when an impromptu visit occurred. He’s a talented artist that specializes in bottle cap portraits and makes a comfortable living in corporate advertising. His work can be seen here:

www.randallstatler.com

A popular restaurant that he worked at in his early Seattle days changes its menu quarterly to different regional fares. They showcase local art that corresponds to the particular regional menu. In a couple of weeks, the menu changes to Italy.

“If you’ve got any paintings that say ‘Italy’, you should totally get em’ up there. Seriously. Stuff sells up there. If it’s decently priced and easy on the eyes, it’ll sell.”

I shifted and tried to change the conversation.

He steered me back.

During the Christmas 2005 party we attended in LA, I met an artist and she told me the story of the first piece of art she sold. I confessed to her that I had a fear of letting go of my art.

“I’m a selfish artist,” I hushed. “I don’t wanna let go of any of it.”

She told me she understood and that it gets easier over time. She told me there’s nothing like the joy of watching somebody else enjoy and love something that you’ve created.

A friend recently commented on one of my blogs about how parents don’t let go of their children. They hold on tight and, in doing so, prevent them from prospering, from intermingling with the world, from reaching their true potential.

“The same can be true for art, I suppose.”

That hit a nerve. A 2006 goal for mine was a show. It didn’t happen and it might’ve been too aggressive a leap. But to start entering a piece or two here and there is a good start.

To truly be willing to release the screenplays would be another good start.

And I realized that a major reason why selling this show is moving along so easily for me is because I don’t love it like I love our scripts. Yeah, it’s a killer concept, a great package, but it doesn’t have characters that I’ve grown to love like members of my own family.

It’s time to start letting go. (It’s time to start sharing my art, myself, with others.)

And it rises to the surface from all directions. This is all connected.

Excuses sprint their way to the front of my mind. My paintbrushes are tattered and worn. I’m out of my favorite paints. What the hell do I know about Italy?

But this is something I’d like to try. I owe it to myself to try.

So readers, I ask for your input with this one.

What comes to mind when you think of Italy? What would you like to see in the realm of acrylic on canvas in regards to Italy?

I’m open to any and all suggestions. Thanks!