I am flogged by doubts lately.
I try to figure, am I doing the right thing, practicing textile skills, aiming for eventual artwork, spending as much time as possible pursuing a passion? Or am I fucking up?
Am I pursuing a future for myself? Or is this time a joke I’ll look back and shake my head at, years from now?
Am I better off continuing with my plan? Or finding a job, working full time, moving to a saner, quieter place, and working on textile loves in my spare time?
Each night I try to sleep, fearing the crashes and thunderings and slams that can come at any time from the left, the right, above, I doubt my sanity in remaining here, in my old flat with its old lease and its cheap rent and my loud, insensible neighbors.
The move can’t come without the job, not with the cost of rent here. And the job can’t come without the move.
Sometimes I am on the verge of seeking work, of ending the anxiety one way or another. Then I think of the book I’ve been reading, Fearless Creating by Eric Maisel, in which Maisel describes artistic anxiety as a struggle between the anxiety of creating and the anxiety of not creating, in which he encourages those who would be artists to choose the anxiety of creating.
Is that what I’m feeling? The anxiety of creating?
All I have today are questions and doubts.
For a full list of all articles on art and self doubt, look here. At this point, the list is short.
Painting, Patchwork Poppies, by my college roommate, Brenda Higginson. Brenda, your work has always stunned and moved me. I’m privileged to own two of your paintings. They make me very happy.
Photograph: Of Patchwork Poppies and granny squares, by curvylou.