A Time to Plant
To everything there is a season, Ecclesiastes tells us, and though it’s spring outside, (well, as I type this on April 25th, it’s actually snowing) for the last month I’ve felt like I’m still stuck in the dark dead of winter. My body aches, and my mind is tired. I see the green grass, daffodils and shiny baby calves spring up around me and I feel the promise of summer- of tending my garden and harvesting the fruits of my labor, but I’ve just been in a funk lately. I want to spend a couple days curled up on the sofa with a blanket, tea and -I’m ashamed to say- the TV remote.
I refuse to limit myself by labeling this feeling as “artist’s block,” that dreadful fear of beginning something new. Especially after a success, we ask ourselves, “Will I be able to top that?” When we feel trepidation, we hear tiny voices saying, “You’ve lost it- you just can’t make anything new or interesting anymore.” The cure for these thoughts is to work through them, and I usually do, successfully, though at the expense of everything around me: my house, my gardens, my relationships or time to myself. Lately, “time to myself” has become “time in the studio.” “Doing something for myself” has become “doing a painting for someone else.” “Treating myself” has become “getting art supplies.” I’ve become my career- and while it’s what I’ve always dreamed of doing, and I thank the Lord for this awesome opportunity to follow my life dreams, I’ve realized lately that I need to give myself a day now and then to plant other seeds. Seeds of: faith, family, relationships, and rest.
When it senses a harsh winter, a pine trees loads up with cones to ensure its species’ survival. I’ve spent the last 20 years proving myself to the world, spending too much energy producing seeds and casting them everywhere: on sand, on gravel and pavement, in the breeze, in the water- wherever they fell. I taught classes everywhere. I said yes to every opportunity and every obligation, even when I didn’t want to and didn’t have the time or energy. I donated art to every fundraiser, then felt used when I didn’t receive a thank you for my efforts- “What does the worker gain from his toil?” Ecclesiastes 3:9 (NIV).
This year, I’m choosing quality over quantity, and producing fewer seeds, but planting them with love and care in fertile soil. I’m teaching fewer classes, more joyfully. I’m sharing art with more youngsters, to give them exposure to the fun of simply creating. I’m having coffee with friends-something I never made time for before, and I’m attending art events because I want to and not because I feel obligated. I’m remembering and focusing on the reason I became an artist, rather than the reason I had to pay so much in taxes this spring. I don’t want to be the spruce tree hunched under the weight of the pinecones she’s producing. I will find satisfaction in producing more sparingly this year, and letting those seeds fall on good ground. I am more able to inspire and bring joy to others through my art when I am in touch with my own joy and inspiration on a regular basis.
In 2017, I won't try to prove myself. I will refrain from participating in lots of shows, festivals, events and teaching obligations, and focus on becoming a better painter and a better person. I won’t allow a mediocre painting to leave my studio. I want to forget my phone more often and be more present with my family. I want to paint our beautiful Wyoming seasons en plein air more often. I want to tend my gardens better and finally paint the kitchen cupboards that have been on my to-do list for several years. I to be more aware of and grateful for God’s gifts in my life. I want to be a blessing to others by spending more quality time with fewer people and less time with the masses. Ecclesiastes 3:12-13 (NIV) states, “I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil- this is the gift of God.”
Today I went to the studio with this in mind. I painted, and felt the dread of upcoming commissions slip away as the fun of painting drown my fears. I found my joy again.