an artist’s guide to growth, step 1: throw caution to the wind.
I just submitted responses to an interview for an art magazine, ShoutOut Colorado. One of the questions had to do with my views on RISK, and its role in art. The beauty is that this question prompted a deeper dive into an issue I had not much considered until asked. It’s a beautifully frustrating cycle of thinking you know something, then someone challenges your view, then you have to rethink it. It’s called growth. But growing requires risk.
Doing the work takes time, but if you’re immersed in the process, it won’t be wasted time.
Growing up in a 'risk-averse' environment, the concept of taking chances, of embarking on a journey that may result in.....nothing but wasted time and effort, is novel to me. My parents both worked extremely hard within a system that emphasized conformity. In their world, there was no room for risk/reward behavior. My parents simply could not afford to lose. And now that I'm a parent, I can see why my parents took the safe route. The established 'work your ass off and get paid for it' system that we've all been taught provided the safety, security, and predictability that they required to raise a family. That was all I knew for a long time. When it came time to commit to a career, the idea of starting my own business and potentially going bankrupt if it failed was never really on the table. To keep my sanity, I played it safe and taught public school art for nearly 30 years.
That is the problem with risk. I believe that risk tolerance is determined by a person's belief in themselves, as well as their ability to change course and adapt when circumstances require it. For the longest time, I lacked the confidence and trust in myself to venture into the unknown. What 'could' happen if it failed always drowned out what 'could' happen if it succeeded. I thought it was wisdom, but now I realize it was fear of failure that drove the majority of my life's important decisions. I guess there is too much paralysis by analysis.
To me, risk comes down to answering a few key questions before taking the plunge. Who stands to benefit or suffer as a result of your risk-taking? What advantages will those involved in the venture reap if you succeed? What does success mean to you? How will you know if you're successful? And, most importantly, why is this important to you? We must examine why we are willing to take risks. I suppose that taking risks necessitates a deep commitment to the cause in order to muster the energy and burn the calories required to make it happen.
A shot in the dark?
I'd been considering pulverizing paper in a blender and then putting the pulp to a canvas with acrylic paint for quite some time. Would it ultimately succeed? I'm still not quite there, to be honest. After six months of experimentation, there is still much to resolve with the technique.
Has time been wasted? Nah. I'd describe it as an investigation of untapped creative potential. The key issue is whether or when I perceive this process to have diminishing returns.
It took some time, but at the age of 57, I'm finally transitioning away from the limiting beliefs and fear that kept me from truly exploring my options. It's not so much that I'm overcoming my fear of failure as it is that being true to myself and what I want to express has finally trumped the need for acceptance. Embracing the process of redefining myself, pushing limits, and daring to publicly share small parts of myself in my art provides the benefit of self-realization. Through the process's ups and downs, I'm learning about myself. Money would be nice, but it is our universally accepted and visible measure of success. This risk I'm taking forces me to examine my worldview. If I don't become wealthy, I'd like to become more self-actualized by creating things. I'm very guarded, too concerned with how others perceive me as a person, and it shows in my artwork. Nobody wants to be perceived as flawed, and even the most calculated risks can reveal our deepest flaws. Going to uncomfortable places where complete failure is possible is the best way for me to learn about myself. Only then will an authentic, true voice emerge in my art.