I suck at Art.
Which is sort of inconvenient, what with me being an artist and all.
There are some days when I can not only paint...I can FLY! I am facile and brilliant! Colours sing! The Universe flows through my brush and onto the paper or canvas set before me. On those days, painting is like dancing: strong, instinctive, joyous.
Obviously, today is NOT one of those days.
I have a show in two weeks. Frankly, I'm not sure that I have enough artwork to show (we'll forget for now that there is the whole getting it ready part of the process....all of the matting and framing and pricing, etc.). So, I have been trying to churn out some fresh watercolours to toss into a flip-rack, because I don't have any watercolours available for sale.
The reason that I feel so driven to produce some bright, sparkly watercolours is because I would really like to generate some income from this show and (face it) people don't have a whole lot of cash on hand to spend on paintings. So, I figure, a basket of watercolours might generate some sales.
But, today, my muses are not co-operating with me. Maybe they resent being market driven. Maybe they're tired. They aren't talking to me today, so I have no idea what's up with them. So, I'm left with that awful, empty feeling. Down is up and up is down and there is no colour in the world and everything is bleak and joyless. I am a sham. A hack. A middle-aged dilettante
A little while ago, I went upstairs to my husband's office and plopped down in a desk chair.
"I suck at Art!"
"No, you don't", he said. "You do not suck at Art. You're just having a bad day."