There is no cute formula for success in painting. It’s hard work every day. It’s also keeping a role model in front of me when it gets especially tough. Other artists’ achievements inspire me to move forward, those artists become my guiding stars. That’s why I have no jealousy towards my peers, because I can see what’s possible in due time and practice. We fulfill our dreams with our own work, not the work of others.
Who are my models? Female artists like Tanya Gant, Anne-Marie Kornachuk and Beth Sistrunk to mention a few are tenacious and talented women who push and pull against all odds going upward.
I believe we succeed eventually, because we refuse to quit. Although it often feels like a dead end where there is nothing to go by, when words like ‘nice work’ or ‘good stuff’ can get you only that far. But a strong will, belief in myself, and the internal love for my craft keeps me grounded. And I enjoy the everyday of painting.
On a bad day 🙁
Powered by the ruthless force of frustration, I run with a steep incline, at the speed number that meets my level of emotional pain. The soles of my worn, running shoes fly over the rotating black belt; they build endurance, the survival tactic. And I run as my legs ache and they beg to slow down, but I refuse, I flush out my hurt with tears. My heart’s stomps blow my ears, and I override it with trance beat. My face deep red, I run. I track the whooping breath in my lungs. My insides burn like fire, and I run. My skin prickles, and legs are about to cramp. I’m acid perspiration. Unstoppable I become, feel the rise of resistance to my failures, to painful words and encounters, to the insensitive world that drowns, but teaches, teaches me to survive. And that’s how it feels on a bad day. Drenched in sweat, I run on a treadmill of artist’s life.
On a good day 🙂
The joy of painting runs inside me like the cobalt blue river. The snowflakes dance above its glossy surface and trickle down in my limbs. I feel the rise of God-sent energy and melt into another place, the forth dimension. It’s there, there I create. Through the looking glass I fall, where I hear no judgement and see no stop signs. The round clock on my wall quits ticking. Like a sweet fragrance of blooming roses, my joy flourishes and invigorates me. And that’s how it feels on a good day.