After graduating from art school in the 90s, I kept a studio for one year so that I could continue painting. The idea was that if I could sell a few paintings there would be justification for keeping the space.
At the end of the year, I had a solo show of the body of work I created. I was proud of the work. It felt good and felt like growth.
Nothing sold and when the lease on the space ran out I packed everything into storage and surrendered the studio. That was my last productive year as a painter.
Over the years I’ve wanted to pick up the brushes, but I’ve been good at coming up with reasons not to: no time, no space, no inspiration, it’s expensive.
Well, now I’ve bought a few canvases, I’m pretty sure I know where my bucket of paints and brushes are, and I want to create again.
And I’m terrified.