Wednesday, June 12, 2013


My second painting's inspiration came to me in a dream.

I am just getting into painting and am loving it. I want to get good. Really good. (And I want to learn how to draw but I'll save that for another post 😉). I do, however, need to learn how to chill out on my harsh self-criticism, which I blame partly on my Myers-Briggs Type Indicator(R) personality type- INFP 😊

Rewind to a couple Fridays husband, Patrick, and I were at a book store just enjoying caramel macchiatos and browsing good reads. I passed by a book of the greatest photographs taken for National Geographic magazine and saw the famous green-eyed Afghan girl photo on the cover. I quickly gave my appreciation for that photo in my mind, as I have seen that  

The next day, the hubs and I were at a local (support local!) art supply store and bought some more paint and some nicer brushes. I felt somewhat out-of-place there because I'm not some professional or even serious hobbiest with anything art, but that was all my mindset; the employees there were extremely helpful and supportive of my trying new artistic ventures. 

When I took a nap later on, I dreamt about being back at that same art store, this time I was doing the underpainting on a (12-foot long!) canvas there. While working on it, I saw a couple employees talking quietly behind the cash register. I couldn't help but think they were talking about my lack of painting skills. (Underpainting is–in my case–the foundation of a painting to get toning and a rough draft, so to speak.)

I went back to use the restroom, and in there was a shadow-y rendering of the green-eyed Afghan girl; her silhouette was dark with a lighter area shaped like an eye, yet it was clear to me who it was in the painting. it was my lightbulb moment—those workers weren't discussing my lack of skills, I had only done the underpainting! I am simply too critical of my own work (read: self) and realized people simply don't care.  We all have the same goal in life—to live it with no regrets. People I pass on the street, or even come to know a little, are not going to remember me with the clarity that photograph demonstrates. At the end of the day we look in the mirror at ourselves, no one else.  We are all simply passers by in others' own stories of life.


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