So as primarily a musician, I am used to having the sole hard limitation on a work-in-progress be time. My wife is a fiber artist whose work is massively iterative, so we have entire bins full of dozens of variations and collections of similar works. I am used to her making a hundred of a thing and separating the works she considers “successes” from the rest. Meanwhile, I’ll be plunking away on an instrument in another room playing the same riff a hundred times until it evolves or clicks. Her art requires materials and space, mine requires an instrument and time.
Starting to paint has introduced me to a wonderful new anxiety, namely Irreparably Fucking It Up ™️. I have fucked up massively in music. I have released bad tracks, I have played bad shows. But there is something different about staring at something in front of you that takes up space, that you have spent time and materials working on, and holding the two simultaneous thoughts in your head; “I like how this looks right now,” and “what if I fuck it up by changing it.”
I fucking love this tension. Part of why I consider myself a live performer first and a composer second is that I feel most alive when I’m playing music. I have never walked onto stage, over multiple decades and with hundreds of hours of experience, without having complete fear that I am going to unquestionably fuck up in front of friends, family, and strangers. Personally, I think there’s something deeply mortifying about creating art for others, putting out for display, “this is a part of me, this is what I enjoy, I want you to see this part of me,” and I can’t get enough of it.
So even though I am very nearly painting just for myself, I still have that fear of creating something that isn’t good enough, but in a delicious new flavor. Learning new things and relishing being mediocre in them is definitely not for everyone, but hot damn am I having fun giving less and less of a shit if anyone thinks I’m any good at what I devote my life to.
