My Reader brought the post in today and set it down on the table. “You’ve received a letter from your lovely Irish friend. You know…the one who lives in Ireland.” Slicing the envelope I quickly but gingerly pull out the sheaves of brightly coloured paper and begin reading heart-felt words written half-a-world away from this place I call home.
This is not about what the letter said…well, perhaps…but first I want you to know something about the drawing above. My Reader is happy I’m done with it, and wants you to know why. This is why: I’ve painted this image four times trying to “get it right”. The expectation of perfection, as usual for me, is keenly sought. Fear of failure to perform, to put on paper what I see in my mind to be captured with colourful imagery, first and foremost. Always. Of course.
The second and third attempts? Back to the drawing table.
This final attempt I’ve decided is as good as it is going to get. I’m done. My Reader is tired. I’m tired. Time to move on.
“You are boring me. Get to the point if you have one,” says Reader.
“If you know something well, you can always paint it,
but people would be better off buying chicken.”
It is good this fear of failing…keeps the focus where it should be…out of the hen house.
“Are you done?” Reader asks.
I’ll be in touch…