trying...

dreams are sometimes scary things-
this great big goal of being an artist. what does it mean? what does it entail? how do you do it?

how do you make your love support you? should a person even ask for such a thing?

i guess this is how you figure out what 'aspirations' really are-
what is feasible, responsible, ethical... necessary.

since 6am, i've been finalizing a grant application. it's taken me well over a year to even work up the nerve to apply to this particular foundation, to risk the rejection letter, to prepare myself for the potential of receiving the big, fat NO. basically, i've been second-guessing my own practice for the last 6 hours. i've been staring at my portfolio thinking that it's all crap, that i'm not good enough, that it's ridiculous of me to even think i stand a chance. every success i've had has become invisible and mute. i can't see them or hear them. this is how it goes. this is the artist ego kicking in. this is our frailty and fear, our lack of logic in the face of desire. i know that i am being completely unreasonable. i know i've done at least some good work. i know that, should the rejection letter come, i've done my best and that it doesn't mean my work is without value. i know all this and i am talking myself down. once the envelope is dropped off at the post-office, i will calm down. i'll let go of my anxieties and i'll say, "it's out of your hands now, girl" and i'll go back to my day, happy as i always am, and i won't think about it much until the response shows up. right now though, i am in the thick of it- all my hopes and dreams laying inside a manila envelope... and all my fears that i'm not good enough to make them happen. but taking the chance is exactly what has to happen. isn't that what love requires? i have to be brave. i have to practice being brave as often as i practice painting. i have to put the work out in to the world and risk getting the response i don't want because, in the end, it isn't about me. it's about the work. i owe it to the work to push it out of my safe little sphere. at least that much i owe.

i will eat lunch and walk down the lonely 1/2 mile to the post-office. i will let go. i will try. i will come back home and lug my canvas outside. i will obey The Jog and sweat the anxiety out.