I need a long rest.
Boy, once you see the flaws in things, you start seeing them everywhere. Who created the idea of the Critic, anyway? Especially the idea of the inborn critic. I’d be just as happy to post my idiotic ramblings in whatever unfocused shape they ended up slumped in before the photographers left, but there’s THAT VOICE in my head that says, “It’s not good enough.”
What the Hell?
“And if you post it, YOU’RE not good enough!”
Good enough for what?
“To sleep at night. You know you’re not WORKING TO YOUR POTENTIAL.”
Oh My God it’s 3rd Grade All Over Again!
My good pal RVH keeps telling me that “worrying” is “stupid” but he doesn’t understand visual stuff. What do you do when everything, and I mean everything, tells you it isn’t good enough yet, and worse, may never be?
Yeah, RVH says he’ll finish the humor essay. Which means, he’ll re-write it endlessly. And it won’t be mine anymore. Oh, great comfort, there…
Fine, it will be out of my hands. But what about the damn paintings? Especially THAT painting.
ALL THOSE paintings.