into the thick of it

swinging between doubt and faith, tracing fears to their point of origin, and trusting what i know instead of what i can see

i’m 13 paintings, 9429 words, and an installation idea into creating a completely new body of work for my solo exhibition in Paris. 

i am, as we say, in the thick of it; too far out from the beginning to be buoyed by those first waves of excitement and curiosity that come when starting something new, but not close enough to the end to see the finish line coming into view just yet. i’m at the halfway point, in that messy middle, languishing between that tension of doubt and faith that every creative knows so intimately. my vision for the show has been clear for some time, but when it comes to putting my hands to actually materializing it, i feel as though i’m fumbling around in the dark most days. it’s hard for me to tell if it’s coming together in the studio the same way it all connects in my mind and body visually and viscerally. i’m too close to it to trust that my perception of the work as it’s developing as a whole is accurate or even objective enough. or it could be that i’m simply just too afraid to trust that it is indeed making sense and being translated from my mind through my hands to canvas as i’ve envisioned. 

i’ve been thinking quite a lot about fear recently, noticing how it lays siege to courage and faith and is taunting me on nearly every approach to the canvas at this stage of the creation process. every dip into a color, every mark made, is met with lines of questioning that can feel both constructive and confrontational. 

does this piece build off of the one that came before it? does this work support the show’s concept? should that mark have ended sooner or gone in the opposite direction? are my gestures becoming redundant? is the work stagnating? am i trying too hard or not pushing myself as far as it can go? 

this is a part of the process that i’ve encountered and even welcomed many times before, but this latest engagement feels especially contentious because, despite my ability to find my way through it to the end of piece, it is inhibiting my ability to truly see or perceive the work through a lens other than one distorted by fear. fear is currently coloring everything i lay my eyes on, so i am having to rely on the constructive feedback of others to help me see each piece from a perspective that is not warped or constrained by my own insecurities. this also means i cannot rely on my sense of sight to affirm that a painting’s composition has struck the balance i'm seeking, answers the questions i’m grappling with, or is completed; instead, i am forced to lean heavily on intuition to lead me to the end. as a painter, not being able to trust how i’m viewing the work in front of me is worrisome...painting my way through it intuitively is, somewhat ironically, the only answer. i walk away from each painting having to trust that what lives on the canvas is what was meant to be expressed...even if my eyes and logic haven’t caught up to it just yet.

it very well could be that in addition to fighting through fear, i’m also fighting the compulsion to have things makes sense. but since this new body of work—and really, my practice as a whole—is about emotions and the impacts of their suppression and release on the body, psyche, and sense of self; perhaps this is a reality i have to learn to accept: emotions are less about logical sense-making and more about somatic experiences and sensations that give us clues about ourselves. psychology tells us that emotions are not facts, but they are information.

which brings me back to fear. 

what is it exactly that i am afraid of? what scares me the most when i think of sharing these works with others?

visibility, mostly. because as a child, visibility brought violence. 

vulnerability. it’s hard for me to trust others with my emotions. 

criticism. badu said it best: “i’m an artist, and i’m sensitive ‘bout my shit!”  

stagnancy. is the work evolving? is there growth? does each painting stand on its own and also work as part of the whole? 

standing on my own. i’ve been fortunate to have shown with some truly incredible artists at varying levels in their careers through group exhibitions over the years. i’ve grown accustomed to my work playing a supporting role in helping to communicate a theme, idea, or statement. but this is my first time presenting a full body of work on its own, to be viewed, critiqued, and engaged on its own merits. i realized a few years ago that am comfortable with collaboration because it shields me from having to stand alone and say “this is me, this is mine.” 

the unknown. success. what happens if i succeed? what if it exceeds my own expectations and makes real dreams i’ve only had the courage to imagine? what if it all goes well and the other shoe never drops? what if this is the best i can ever do? what happens after i meet my own definition of success? what happens when i get everything that i think i want and it either isn’t enough or no longer feels aligned with who i am? what if what i achieve isn’t what i truly desire? is my definition of success meant to remain fluid and constantly evolving or static? 

13 paintings and 9429 words in, i’m slogging my way through the thoughts, questions and emotions swirling around my head and on the canvases in front of me. it is exhausting but i’m holding onto the belief that the effort will be worthwhile. there still remains a final set of blank canvases waiting for me to find my way to the other side of the clearing. i hope to meet you—and a new iteration of myself—there.