Stick with me - this metaphor is from a sci-fi show, but perfectly illustrates what I'm feeling.
Earlier today, I wrote about self-doubt and trying to figure out why I keep running away when I have to make decisions when I'm painting. One of you wrote back, asking how I could possibly doubt myself.
There isn't exactly language to describe this kind of doubt. It isn't that of the Soul or the Self -- it's of the Artist Self, those moment before birth when you know wonderful things are about to come out into the world, but you're just before that when it's painful and confusing and moving in hyper-realism and you wonder how you got there in the first place. It's the doubt that comes before a fever breaks and you've been sick for ages. It is the doubt that is necessary to faith & grace.
So, in this show I watch, Haven , Audrey had to open a door. She had to find it, first, as the world began to crumble around her, and she had a guide, trying to help her remember herself. But it wouldn't work if just she opened the door; her friends had to on the other side, too. And when she opened that door, what awaited her was a desert wasteland, a green and white shining scape of fast moving clouds and mountains in the distance, and she had to cross it on faith alone .
Right. I'm sure a sci-fi dreamscape looks awesome to jump out into on faith that there's a magic door on the other side.
And that's where I am. I've opened the door, I'm looking out across, and I'm taking my first steps. It's scary and overwhelming and larger than life, and I know I'll get through to the other side, but as you're stepping out, you have doubt.
I'm running less. And found my flow.
Here are some action shots from the day...