Preachy
I'd spent an hour writing a post this morning, when I suddenly realized how preachy it sounded.
It was all about writing and getting published and how the process is more important than the product and blah, blah, blah. It dawned on me, as I walked Mac to school, that the people who read this blog (all five of you, if I'm lucky, and I love every single one of you) don't need to be told how important it is to write, don't need to be told that you need to look for the small comforts in an artful life, don't need to be reminded that publication is not necessarily a reflection of talent . . . you know all this.
I suppose, what I'd wanted to convey with that original post, is that sometimes, we lay all of our hopes onto something--an event like publication--and in doing so, give our power away. That we forget why we're doing what we're doing, whether it be sculpting forms from clay or splashing paint across a canvas. That you've got to dig down, deep, and figure out the real reasons why you are pursuing your art, and focus your energies on that.
I become so frustrated with wanting to be liked, admired, or respected. I struggle with it. And sometimes, I am strong enough to take a stand and stuff that need into the back of the closet with all of the clothes that are out of season, and say, I refuse to use my art, my passion and creativity, as a means to become popular. I write because I want to connect with someone else, convey a mood, and tell a story. Frequently, I forget that. Writing becomes about the need to have someone say that my work is good, instead of me telling myself that. It becomes about pleasing others. It becomes about doubt and insecurity and fear. It is the desperate act of giving my power away.
What I want for all of us is to be confident and kind and joyful in our own power. I want us to remember who we are and why we're here and why we're important. I want us to be Dorothy at the end of the movie, realizing that she's in charge, not the Wizard or the witch or the shoes.
In this life, I'm tellin' ya: I want to be Martha Stewart, not her Apprentice. I'm not sitting around, waiting for a holler off the porch, A+ report card, 5 star review validation.
I'm too busy writing.
Can I get a witness?
It was all about writing and getting published and how the process is more important than the product and blah, blah, blah. It dawned on me, as I walked Mac to school, that the people who read this blog (all five of you, if I'm lucky, and I love every single one of you) don't need to be told how important it is to write, don't need to be told that you need to look for the small comforts in an artful life, don't need to be reminded that publication is not necessarily a reflection of talent . . . you know all this.
I suppose, what I'd wanted to convey with that original post, is that sometimes, we lay all of our hopes onto something--an event like publication--and in doing so, give our power away. That we forget why we're doing what we're doing, whether it be sculpting forms from clay or splashing paint across a canvas. That you've got to dig down, deep, and figure out the real reasons why you are pursuing your art, and focus your energies on that.
I become so frustrated with wanting to be liked, admired, or respected. I struggle with it. And sometimes, I am strong enough to take a stand and stuff that need into the back of the closet with all of the clothes that are out of season, and say, I refuse to use my art, my passion and creativity, as a means to become popular. I write because I want to connect with someone else, convey a mood, and tell a story. Frequently, I forget that. Writing becomes about the need to have someone say that my work is good, instead of me telling myself that. It becomes about pleasing others. It becomes about doubt and insecurity and fear. It is the desperate act of giving my power away.
What I want for all of us is to be confident and kind and joyful in our own power. I want us to remember who we are and why we're here and why we're important. I want us to be Dorothy at the end of the movie, realizing that she's in charge, not the Wizard or the witch or the shoes.
In this life, I'm tellin' ya: I want to be Martha Stewart, not her Apprentice. I'm not sitting around, waiting for a holler off the porch, A+ report card, 5 star review validation.
I'm too busy writing.
Can I get a witness?
posted by Cate at 7:46 AM
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