The Scariest Thing
a backstory on my new series
Yesterday, I launched a rather hefty new series of original paintings on my website. Ones much different than any work I have shared before. I am really truly proud of what I have done. Last weekend at Chester Bowl Fall Festival I brought over 40 of those with me and left with a little over half. I got so inspired that I painted more this past week to launch on Saturday.
But let me tell you, releasing a collection out into the world so different from anything I have done before has felt vulnerable, a little risky and really raw.
It also felt like a full body exhale,
grounding,
a return to myself.
My nervous system always sends out a big, loud “NOT SAFE. DO NOT ATTEMPT” alarm whenever I deviate from my comfort zone. Being an artist gives me the very special advantage of being able to experience this literally all the time.
I know that this “alarm” is just my child self, scared of being too much or not enough. I was a very convenient and likeable child because I learned that was how you stay out of trouble. Flying under the radar kept me safe. Sometimes I am able to override her anxiety by gently whispering to her, “we can’t grow if we don’t take chances.” Other times my resistance to being seen has been so big that it’s paralyzed me for years.
Because what if this big thing that I am super excited about isn’t met with the same passion and enthusiasm by everyone else? What if the very thing I am in love with and my livelihood is dependent upon can’t support me? What if the passion I have dumped all of my energy into falls short of everyone else’s expectations?
I have carried a lot of insecurity about being an artist. Starting out is extremely humbling, and that experience hasn’t really gone away yet. I have launched many collections of paintings and been met with crickets, or those paintings have taken years to sell, or haven’t sold yet! I have had opening receptions to exhibits where only a few people showed up and 3/4 of the “crowd” consisted of Spencer, and my immediate family — any one of you who showed up in those early days, I see you, I remember the art you left with, it meant the world to me, THANK YOU.
I know what it’s like to feel like I have fallen short, or that I have outright failed. I have spent plenty of hours lying in bed trying to figure out what I need to do differently next time.
The thing is, it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I fail because there is always something else I am much more afraid of than feeling foolish…
I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t try.
It took me 31 years to take a chance on my art. I didn’t apply to art school because I never felt like I was good enough in high school. There was a point in my adolescence where I admired other people’s creativity from afar, way too afraid to try because I was worried I wouldn’t be enough.
I did this until not trying became agonizing.
From this, I have learned this beautiful thing — failure never hurts as much as feeling like I’m robbing myself of my own potential. I would rather pour myself into something I love and put it out into the world with no evidence of how it’s going to perform because guess what? There is always a chance that the thing I love, someone else will love too, and I will never find those people if I don’t talk about my experience and put my art out into the world for someone to find it.
What’s so vulnerable about this release?
As long as I have been selling my art I have been elevating the presentation of my paintings. I taught myself how to mat and frame all my own work. And I’m good at it. Staining and varnishing my own frame and cutting mats has always been something I am proud of. It allows me to sell my work finished, refined, dressed up, ready to hang. People LOVE that.
This past year, I experienced sort of a renaissance with my relationship to painting. I asked myself, “What I would create if I stopped putting so much energy into the presentation of it?”
The result was GLORIOUS — a seemingly endless flow of small works that poured from my fingertips. An ardent passion for this fluid and often unforgiving medium returned because I stopped pushing the paintings and myself to become something great. They were what they were. Loose, lively watercolor sketches.
I wanted to honor their essence all the way through. So instead of the double mat and frame, I am offering these pieces to you in a way that feels true to the whole creative process that brought them to life — raw, one of a kind, and honest. All of the new pieces are:
Unframed — so you get to choose your own.
Standard sizes — so framing isn’t hard.
Deckled edges — unrefined and honest.
Mounted, not matted — resourceful, plus the way they float right above the mat? Chefs kiss.
This collection is the embodiment of embracing my journey for exactly what it is at present and the unrivaled joy of that comes from making something truthful.
I love every single one of these little paintings and I hope you find something that speaks to your soul. They are living things, from my hands and my heart to yours.
