I am so frustrated with my painting.  I know it's because I'm taking a class at the university and I'm trying new things. I'm growing, but it's hard.  Aren't I old enough?

Why is this so hard?  I have seven or eight unfinished paintings and all of them are crap.  Ugh!

If I'm willing to open myself to the possibilities and take the risks, I soar.

If I'm not, I stagnate. 

I must have made my choice because the magic is afoot. 

I've been doing a lot of thinking about how our minds work to tell us stories that protect us from emotional pain.  We tell ourselves lies that exonerate us from some of the things we've done.  If we've done something to someone, we revised history so we come out the victim.  A favorite of mine was always reacting, whenever hurt, with lots of anger.  There are so many ways not to own up to who we really are. 

I guess what we are is human.  We do what is necessary to keep our heads above water; we stay in jobs and relationships because we are dependent.  We tell ourselves that someone really did love us when all the evidence is contrary.  Then there is the "next time it will be different scenario."  How did the human condition evolve in this way?  Why would we rather hide than face the truth?  When did we become such cowards?

My point?  I spend way more time contemplating our existence than I did in sixties.  I guess the important thing is what I witness in other people, I look for in myself.  Am I being honest?  Am I rewriting the past?  Am I running?

All very lofty thoughts for a Monday morning.  I think the creative part of me is dependent on staying in the moment.  If I'm protecting myself or hiding, I'm inviting in the past and the future.  I'm closed to the magic and I'm liable to let depression get the best of me.  What I know is that when I paint I am the closest to staying in the moment and becoming a more spiritual person. 

Time to go down and look at my first finished (I think) acrylic painting.  I'm going to try to find out if there is a way to display pictures on here of my works in progress.  It will be a remarkable way for me to record my evolvement as an artist and to invite criticism (another thing to avoid at all costs). 

Carol said she had looked at my blog and called me brave.  What more incentive do I need to keep writing?  The acrylics are coming along.  I'm working on a painting using pieces of tin foil.  What I like about acrylics is that you can put all sorts of stuff on it.  Pollock put cigarettes and nails on his, but I think I will stick to tin foil.  (At least for now--who knows what might appear.)  I'm sorry I am taking this art history class for credit.  I have tests and papers and I don't remember shit at this age.  Oh well, hopefully I will pass.  It's taking me away from the studio a little, but I'm gaining a new appreciation for all the art I've always hated.