Little Fish, Big City

I have been putting off writing for months now. Months. I am married (just reached the six-month mark) and living in the greatest city in the world (quoting Hamilton, which we saw on Broadway and it is AMAZING), and yet I haven’t been writing.

Perhaps it is that the changes are too vast to keep up with, the jumps too big. Perhaps it is that I am busy, and there is much else to do. I am painting quite often, working (currently part-time, as a stylist), and taking care of a household. I am learning what it means to be a wife, and I am encountering a ginormous world full of more possibilities than I know what to do with. So many things to do, so many things to see. There are so many things I could write about, and perhaps it is the paradox of choice that leaves me frozen with nothing. But screw that. Today I mustered up my energy, left my apartment, and walked 12 minutes over to the New York Public Library (yes, the famous Bryant Park one). I sit here now, surrounded by a gilded ceiling, intricate stonework, many many books, and some weird looking people. Now, to write.

A creative life, it seems to me, is a constant ebb and flow between inspiration and stagnation. I have been battling the latter as of late. The opportunities I have found so far haven’t led to much. People keep getting sick (including a small gallery owner that was going to come over for a studio visit, delayed once again).

But I am still painting, still working away in my little home studio.

Cute, right?

This is what I am working with when I mention a studio visit—a corner of my 280-square-foot, 5th-floor walk-up apartment. Not so professional, but maybe that is okay?

Now is the time to run a bunch of experiments, and not reject myself before others can. I was supposed to be interviewed this week for an emerging artist series, and that is another thing that was postponed. The questions are “where are you now?” and “where are you going?” and despite the last several years of learning and growing and developing my craft, thinking about where I am now had me drawing a complete blank. Where am I? Floating in the universe endlessly?

My husband says (lovingly) that I can be a bit dramatic.

It is amazing how much I forget when asked a question like this. Glossing over accomplishments and tremendous personal growth because…because what? it is embarrassing to talk about it?

What do I know.

I was watching the Matrix for the first time last night because my husband has decided it is necessary to fill the holes (of which there are many) in my cultural education. In the movie, belief and truth are held in tension with one another. A little girl bends a spoon with her mind and helps the protagonist, Neo, do the same by explaining that "there is no spoon." Bending a spoon with the mind would normally be impossible. However, if the spoon is only real insofar as you believe it to be, then letting go of that belief might be all it takes to do the "impossible." Neo goes on to use his belief to stop bullets and do a bunch of other badass stuff. He realizes the Matrix is an illusion and is able to transcend it.

I am not claiming to be able to bend spoons here, but I do believe that one’s perception has a great impact on their life. The way I present myself in an interview, for example, could either convey competence and inspire intrigue, or could share my self-doubt and make everyone who sees it doubt me as well. I don’t want that.

Most people, I think, feel self-doubt. Doing something challenging inspires self-doubt. Doing something new inspires self-doubt. I hope to get to a place where my inner gaslighter is silenced, but for now I will try to conceal, not feel, and not let it show.

And most importantly, keep painting anyway. Keep writing anyway. Keep in the room where things are happening, even if I feel like a complete imposter.

That’s it for now! You’ll be hearing from me again shortly. Thank you for reading, and I would love to hear any thoughts these reflections spark.