Fear - Does it EVER go away?
 

I have a commission that I started yesterday - after sitting on it for over a week because I was afraid to start it. It is not a big thing, just a lady and her dog done in charcoal - and yet, it intimidated me for seven days. I piddled, I paddled, I went Christmas shopping - anything to avoid starting that painting.

Yesterday I just sat down, picked up a piece of charcoal and made a mark. Before I knew it, it was three hours later and the dog was almost completely done - and the fear was gone.

Go figure.

I have the book
Art and Fear and have read it. It is very insightful and true, but it still bothers me that after doing portraiture for so long, even the simple commissions still have the power to scare me.

I have heard other artists who have been in the field for many many more years than I mention that they still get scared of paintings.

How about you?

A big pristine white canvas intimidates many artists, I think. I wonder if that's one reason why some of them tone it first.

Thank God!
 

Michael, I have been battling that same fear, thinking somewhere along the way of my career it would melt into a seasoned confidence. I know my skill level and sometimes it even surprises me, but there is that haunting anticipation with each new commission. But, it's not practice anymore, it's the real thing.

My confidence was much higher when I sat sketching at the town square and people would walk behind you and compliment and be amazed at the work in progress. It was good practice. Now, someone has handed you an enormous check for three-quarters of the amount you quoted as a half-hearted joke and you are sitting alone in a small bedroom you call a "studio" with a dry paintbrush and the clock ticking.

Of course, Michael, shame on you for scaring us amateurs like that. For a minute there, I thought you were serious. (grin)

Mantra
 

Michael, I'd like to loan you my mantra. Fear becomes anticipation, anticipation becomes excitement! Repeat 10 times daily.

Jean

Could it be guilt?

Often times I feel the fear and when I think about it, for me, it comes partly from guilt. Why? Well, for one thing I personally don't know where my next commission is coming from.

Should I be somewhere working on promotion or marketing? Are my friends and family disappointed because I didn't pick a more conventional way to try to make a living? Will I be successful at this piece or mess it up, making the client unhappy with my work, perhaps after hours of labor? It is not pleasant to think of these things but for me, these are the causes of my fear.

No foolin'
 

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. And I've rarely been accused of being an angel.

Can I ever relate to this topic, right down to doing laundry or windows instead! Believe me, I'd rather be painting.

I have to say that with me it is usually there - this dreaded absence of courage. My hubby will question this, which I must say, doesn't help matters too much. Not being an artist himself but a realist by nature, he says "just pick up the brush and paint". Hum-m-m, well.

I will say that I feel better to hear all of this, as though seeing it in print from others in some way makes me feel more well, uh NORMAL. It can be a lonely sight sitting out there in front of an all white "painting to be".

But nevertherless, be brave my friends, be brave. It's only your life we are talking about. :sunnysmil

Oh, and I forgot to add that the other dreaded fear is presenting the portrait, which I am about to do in a couple of weeks.

I will be presenting the 9-11 firefighter's portrait to a new found friend, his widow. Knowing the predicament, the reason, well ... you bet I am plenty shaky about it all, though very proud to be part of it. Anyone with suggestions of how to gain a little confidence here would be most appreciated.

You too!
 

Thank you, Michael, for starting this thread. I have only painted a few portraits (pastel and oil) and I am happy with my results. But, still, every time I think about starting another portrait I put it off for such a long time. There are so many distractions in life! (read: excuses!) I always feel like the last painting that I did, and was pleased with, was just a fluke and what if I can't do that again? How silly, really. It's the practice that is so valuable.

I too have the book 'Art and Fear' and it helped to read in black and white that my 'problem' is just human nature.

It also helps me to remember that success means persistence. I feel there must be many talented artists in the world, but those that are successful are the ones who keep at it!

Thanks for sharing,
Joan

Michael, I can't attribute this thought to anyone in particular, but I've read it so often that perhaps I'll get past the copyright lawyers. It's often said that courage isn't the absence of fear, but the willingness to proceed in the face of it.

It's also said that someone who doesn't have the sense to be afraid in the face of danger or even uncertainty and the unknown is falsely courageous and often foolhardy and sometimes so silly that no one even takes them on. The fact that we tend to have a cultural admiration for that behavior -- especially when it works out (though we're perversely willing to make fools of the failures, too, as if we couldn't be or haven't been fools) -- doesn't make the "artist's block" any easier. Makes it harder, actually.

I think your reticence isn't a problem at all, but an indicator of professional attention and concern. In writing circles, it's called "incubation". You know what you have to say, you know what you want to say, and you know where you're going with what you've got -- and you put that into the pot to boil around for a while.

You do it during your day job, and you do it during your sleep. Connections, phrases, words, and images, come to you. Some of them surprise and excite you -- you suddenly see all kinds of new ways to proceed and make your point.

You frantically search for endtable lamp chains at 2 a.m., pens that work, and you jot those notions down on grocery receipts, or pink slips telling you that you'll be painting a lot more next week. You've read of other professionals' taking 2 or 3 days, or longer, to sort out the setting-up and the get-going. We've all seen, too, the folks who charge in with bravado and no plan. It takes a real pro to make that pretty, and, well . . .

From Joe Singer:

You can't edit anything -- by which I mean you can't fashion it or accept advice -- until you've written the rough draft. The rough draft is what all the wannabes will never produce. ("I could writa book," they'll tell you, over cocktails. "Wish I had time to paint like you do!" they'll say. Goofballs and airheads, I say.

It isn't a small thing that we're doing here. It's a courageous thing. Most of us approach every commission with a mixture of confidence and gut-twisting fear. But if we don't, we're fools, because the fun isn't in the sure thing, it's in the risk. Otherwise, Wal-Mart has an arts training program.

Let's hear it for rough drafts, and first lines, and charcoal sketches and oil sketches, and getting going. Ninety-nine percent don't get that far, so if we're looking at your progress post on this Forum, give yourself a pat on the back, and then get back to work.

Bad days
 

Not that I have never been there standing in front of a blank canvas with a few knots in my stomach... but for the most part, once I get to that point, I have already thought out the painting and I will have done a sketch or two.

If I still feel uncertain about what direction I am going to take, I just stop, and work it out either with more B/W sketches or an oil sketch or a head study, anything to get me painting. I am not one who can visualize my finished painting in my head without doing some (or a lot) of preplanning.

I have heard other artists who claim to have the completed painting in their head and can work from one corner or area direct to finish as they go. I am not one of these artists. For me, the success or failure of a painting all comes down to hard work both in the planning and throughout the painting process.

My problem is the days when I spend several unproductive hours working. Days when every brush stroke is a struggle, each color I mix seems off and I end up wiping out hours of work. Often this is just a bad day. I suppose I would be better off just stopping on these days and doing something else, but when you must paint to make money and the bills are piling up it is hard to say, oh, I just can't paint today.

It may be those bills on my mind or some other distraction that causes these problems. Who knows? On these days, I often question my ability and feel very bad and really berate myself. I read somewhere that Sargent had days like this when paintings where not working out and he would do a day's work over. I guess I should not be so hard on myself. When it is happening it is hard to rationalize it as just a bad day.

Oh well, maybe we should start a thread titled "Group session for troubled artists". We can all discuss our art-related neuroses. We could save a bundle over going to a therapist. Since we are discussing it with other artists, no one will tell us to get a real job and just forget it. :)

Not Alone
 

Well, it is nice to know that I am not alone!

Rochelle: It is interesting that you mention guilt. There is ever so very much to do with this profession isn't there? It is so easy to feel overwhelmed and just sit on your hands and avoid it because you simply don't know where to start.

As professionals, we have to find a way around that pretty quickly as those "things to do" are our keys to our continued success. My wife makes exhaustive lists. When I get too much going, I will sometimes enlist her aid to help me organize and prioritize things into a list. This helps, because then my focus becomes getting rid of the list because I simply hate lists!

Steven: I like your saying. Now I can say, "I am not scared, I am not delaying, I am incubating." :D

Fear
 

One fear that is ever-present with commissions is, "even if I do an award winning portrait, will the client like it? Or even, "will the client, the spouse, all the family in for the holidays like it?" If the painting is a success, will the non-artists with the checkbook realize it?

I have had this framed in my office for many years.


Dare Greatly

It is not the critic who counts;
Not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where
the doer of deeds could have done better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena;
Whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
Who strives valiantly;
who errs and comes up short again and again;
Who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause;
Who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement;
And who at the worst, if he fails * * *
at least fails while daring greatly;
So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.


Theodore Roosevelt

I certainly experience fear when I'm about to present a commission. Tomorrow I'll be presenting a double oil portrait to a client -- and all their family is in for the holidays!

Will they like it? There are some things I do to make that more likely. First, I do my best to create the finest work I am capable of, of course. But beyond that, I make sure to tell them before the presentation that I love the portrait. (I always do love it. Otherwise I wouldn't let it out of my studio until I do!) I tell them what it is I like best about the painting. I also present all my commissions in a very nice frame. It helps make the piece look finished and more impressive.

In my experience, having done hundreds of pastel portraits from life, there is not much correlation between the quality of the piece and whether the client likes it. They often seem predisposed to like it or not like it before the commission begins. If they ask things like, "Do I have to take it if I don't like it?" right at the start, that's a strong clue!

As they say, "Feel the fear and do it anyway." I have a quote from Karin Wells on the wall in my office that says, "I have many more paintings in me and such a limited time to do them in." I don't have time to be paralyzed with fear.

My greatest fear, after all, is that I may have to go get a "real job" again someday. That's what keeps me in the studio every chance I get!

Fear, fear, fear!

What I dread most is the fact that fear tightens me up. It doesn't allow the brush to move well. It stops me from blending colors well. It creates a painting that is safe. I cannot challenge myself in the state of fear.

So I realised that changing the state is the first job. Before picking up the brush the artist must be there with the brush, much in the way a ballet dancer must be there before going on stage. This is not always possible, however it is a key to our job.

On another note, we're very lucky that our work is permanent even if it is only on film after the painting is sold or destroyed (I put my fist through one recently). It is IMPORTANT, not just fun, to look at older paintings and realise that all of the lonely hours are leading somewhere.

Maybe the week you took off before starting the painting was the right thing to do. There's really nothing wrong with it. I believe most of us just need to get used to the fear. Desiring it to go away will not be the answer.

Fear = The Finger or the Moon
 

My biggest fear right now is that I will not be able to convey my feelings in such a way that will be understood in this topic but I will try my very best.

I spent years NOT PAINTING because of something I called fear. Fortunately for me, although others might not view the circumstances as a lucky break, I was forced to stand at a turning point in my life and examine very carefully, all the emotions that had driven me to that point in my life. Here is what I came up with.

For as long as I can remember, I had this feeling of excitement about just being alive. There was an elation, a giggle and a wonder. Picture opening your eyes and you are in the most beautiful place you could ever imagine, and wouldn

Beautifully said.

A paraphrase of Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe is: If I call good what is bad I do damage. My family is a very loving family. We're a very simple family in which anything done is considered good. I wanted to paint, so my parents and aunts and uncles complimented me. I was "talented," "gifted." I went to art school and saw how mediocre I really was. Still, I knew I saw "talented," "gifted."

It was so painful to see that the image on the paper in no way agreed with my imagination of who I was. Other students in my classes were better than I was. Excuses came to my mind to protect my imaginary self image. "He's got a better view of the model," or "the teacher helped him." I wasn't getting it. Drawing became the painful event of the day in which I'd learn who I really was but couldn't admit to being.

That is my recipe for fear. It stopped me dead. It never stopped me from drawing or painting. For 19 years I did it every day but I didn't enjoy it as much as I could have if I didn't carry around this imagination.

Finally after years of torture, I began to let it go. Reaching middle age allows a person to see with more truth who one really is. Michelangelo was great at 15. Mozart wrote music at 4. OK, I'm 35 and I'm not in their league. Slowly the thought "Just be the greatest artist you can be" began to solidify in me. The fear bean to soften. It isn't gone, but it is easier to deal with.

Am I angry with my family? No. They are a dear group of people who mean well. They still do it. I just want more. I've been gifted with determination, they with relaxation. How many of you have never had the thought, "Wouldn't it be nice to not feel I have to be in the studio every day? Why not rent a video and veg out?" Well, we can't. So let's embrace our art.

I'm curious to know if you feel that same fear when you are painting a non-commission piece.

I think there is an extra amount of pressure placed upon our creativity when we accept a commission. Wouldn't it be great if we could paint every day exactly what we wanted? A commission restricts a certain amount of our flow, for some of the reasons already mentioned. But we need the commissions. So I mentally include them in my daily play time.

I sketch and doodle every morning for 3 hours, working with ideas, playing with mediums, with no expectation except for fun. It seems to release the pressure and the procrastinaton that can sometimes surround a commissioned piece. It slowly works its way into my subconcious that this commission is just as fun and natural as my other work.

This practice has helped me work through any fear attached to my commissions. Maybe it's something that you can try.

Yours in art,
Robin

I want to thank both Michael G. for opening this one up, and Mike McC. for the great quote from Teddy R.

I used to worry more about the piddling and pencil sharpening and studio cleaning that I did in anticipation of starting a new painting. Then I had a creative consultant liken it to drawing a bow. The buildup of creative tension was described as a process of imagining the work, amassing whatever information or images--tangible or imagined--were to figure into it, pre-visualizing or rehearsing the first moves, and finally starting (releasing the arrow). I found I couldn't start without the other steps, but if I had done enough preparation, the final work came much more easily, as in Michael's experience.

I had told myself that doing the inner work wasn't really working, since I wasn't actually at the easel, and I wrongly castigated myself for "stalling." I've since relaxed about this, and let it happen. Even with a deadline, I try not to rush to the canvas until I've done the small study, etc. and found my way in.

To Mike McC's point, I tell my students that they'll learn more from a big failure than a small success.

Thanks to all for sharing on this one. We try to appear fearless, but it's not always the truth.

And at the beginning of the New Year, thanks for what I've learned from each of you.

Tom,

I think your creative consultant really hit the mark. It makes so much sense. I find there are times when it is almost impossible to sit in front of that canvas and other times when the painting almost paints itself. With all the other things that have to be done in the day it takes a shift of energy to start working on art.

I think we all have our own version of the so called "stall." I feel a lot like Tom on this matter. I think it's a natural process.

I mostly paint from photographs and I go through what I call the seduction phase. I will literally carry an 8 x 10 photo around with me for days or weeks. I will take it with me throughout the house and even to restaurants and stare at it. Over this time I believe that I am entering the painting.

The curious thing to me is that I go through a similar period to exit the process. I will carry the painting around from room to room and stare at it. I think that I have to have some period of time to emotionally exit the painting.

I can

:thumbsup: Mike, you said it in words that only you can. It is so funny the things we all do. I do nearly the exact thing that you do but hadn't placed a title to it and I like yours.

The difference is that I do not carry photos around but I start with many, do a narrowing down to about 10 and then further try to narrow that down 'til I finally feed that itch of creativeness within my very soul.

I then paint, bring it often into my house (studio just outside within a few yards) and set it where I view it often. But this is where I must be very careful. I tend to overwork the oil. I catch myself enjoying what I have thus far but maybe if I just touch this bit up a little, it could be better. Not a correction which would be necessary-only enhancement changes
WRONG---I have to really stop myself. Then release it and let it fly away.

I read somewhere and have been told to turn my work to the wall until I sell it or (in the case of it being a commission), until it is delivered. I must listen better.

Perhaps fear is the reason for procrastination. I have that problem occasionally. Never thought it was fear before.

"It's just paint," my teacher, George Passantino reminds his students when we get overwhelmed.

Also, I need to connect and fall a little in love with my subject. This immersion process begins long before any paint touches my virgin canvas and includes things as simple as listening to their favorite radio station or cd for inspiration. The contrived intimacy helps to melt away fear.

An enourmous amount of pressure also comes off when I offer a 100% money-back guarantee should the client be less than delighted. This puts the fun back into the portrait process.

As my darling British husband says, "No knickers in a twist!"

Love is my secret weapon against fear.