What is Worth Painting
A crisis of faith. After our daughters illness and hospitalization this past week, I have returned to the studio to pick up where I left off on life. She is home safe and sound thanks to the amazing healthcare teams she had.
I came back to a deadline and a painting nearing completion. But after the previous week, where life and death were front and center, I find my work trite and uninspiring. For almost a week the doctors were not even sure what was wrong with our daughter, and some of possibilities were terrifying. I spent time switching between praying and begging God, and offering all sorts of trade offs for her good health. Fortunately, my combination of pleading was heard and she was returned to us as good as she had been before.
Then there is the painting. All the work- what do artists find inspiring? I know artists with true passion for their subjects; some are fascinated by the mechanisms of how paint works, their pieces a trial of “what happens if I mix this with that?”. Others are (understandably) driven to work by the outrage they cling to over social injustice and the political climate of the day. Some have found peace in the landscapes and flowers they weave together on canvas; light and color stretching across the work.
All of them have the commonality of true passion and commitment to their chosen subject matter. I feel I floating along, not committed to any one ideal or subject; pushed along by various commissions or juried show themes. I lack focus, I find what I start out thinking is a good idea turns to silliness or cliche themes. I push the paint mindlessly; dreaming up how to market it to the vast chasim of the internet. I drift. Nothing sticks. My faith in my art is gone.
I watched a lone goose calling out as it flew low over the horizon, heading in the wrong direction- all it’s companions flying in the standard V. The lone goose called and called, but never heard all the returning calls above it; It was left behind while the others flew on, successfully. I know the sadness and terror that goose feels.
Perhaps it will meet up with a welcoming flock. Maybe it will look up and join the others at some point. Maybe it will run out of energy to fly, and gliding down for food, be lost to various predators that roam. It flew out of view, and I will never know it’s fate.
Today I will clean out the studio, and organize some of my older work. I’ll take some time to think and feel, and then to consider the next steps forward. What is worth painting? What in life is worth doing?
