In The Thick Of It
It rains sometimes at outdoor events.
But at my last art show, we were greeted by a thunderstorm.
It rolled in Saturday afternoon with no intention of being polite.
We knew it was coming, so we hunkered down, protected the artwork, and hoped for the best.
As lightning cracked overhead and golf ball sized raindrops came after every white tent lining the street, water started flowing under my booth and around my feet.
And naturally, my inner critic showed up too.
It wanted to know how I had gotten here.
Standing in a storm in the middle of the street, on summer break from teaching.
Sweaty and worried that my paintings might not make it through.
The art teacher in me.
The artist in me.
And the business owner in me sometimes fight for attention.
The art teacher was thinking, “Why aren’t you resting?”
The artist was wondering, “Why aren’t you painting?”
And the business owner was asking, “How do I get us through this?”
Selling art means wearing far more hats than just “artist.”
On any given day, I’m also the photographer, writer, and marketer.
Framer, shipper, and accountant.
Event planner, tech support, and apparently, the storm response team.
My paintings may be the heart of the work, but they’re only one part of the job.
Getting them out into the world pushes me into a different kind of vulnerability.
The view from my studio is safer and more comfortable, but that’s not where the action is.
So somewhere in the middle of the thunderstorm, while my inner critic was busy stacking evidence toward self doubt.
I remembered that getting my work into the world is a gritty, unpredictable ride.
I’d rather be scared in the thick of it than keep my paintings from having a life beyond me.
I just need to bring water shoes next time.
