This table sits in the middle of studio. Nearly every one of the countless times I walk past it every day, I react to this table in three ways, often all simultaneously:
1. Delight: Look at all these cool things I’m working on. What is the next step forward?
2. Angst: Look at all these unfinished projects. Will any of them every amount to anything? Can I succeed at any of them? What about the things I’ve finished. Are they finished? If so, what do I do with them now? What is the next step forward?
3. Irritation: Look at this clutter! Maybe the next step forward is to clear it all off so the area will be neat and tidy.
I realize that I treat other people’s work with a lot more respect and sympathy. Once, many years ago, I turned the corner of the hallway in a house and came upon a framed piece of calligraphy. It was delightful for just one moment to admire this excellent piece of original calligraphy. I even thought to myself: “This is much better calligraphy than one usually sees.” Then I recognized it as mine. I could practically see myself shift from relaxed appreciation to criticism: “Oh, the letter forms are better than I remembered being able to do back then, but look at that spacing. Ugh! And what about margins, where is the white space around the text block? Did I never stand back and look at the piece as a whole? (Am I still forgetting to do that?) And that drawing. I should really not be drawing.”
It’s the eternal balancing act:
If I were to drop the critical appraisal altogether, where would be the challenge, the motivation, the engagement? But when I forget to appreciate where I am, I become paralyzed by the disappointments, mistakes, the constant lag between my critical eye and my actual skill.