It's been a week since my last confession. I've impressed myself that I'm here on time.
This past week I stepped out on a ledge so to speak. I've been toying with trying watercolors and acrylics. I painted in oils when I was a teenager but not since them and we are talking oh about #@ years. So I've had material that I purchased about a month ago and I've wavered back and forth between starting with watercolor at one point and acrylic and finally back to watercolor. I don't really have a reason that I can put my finger one for what I decided to start with, but I'm pretty sure that the wavering was simply procrastination to stave off the fear that I had of actually putting the brush to the paint and then onto the medium.
I confess that when I pulled out the material the week and finally started, I felt a tiny bit of success. Not so much in what I did (generally I am just working on some technique exercises) but I felt some success in meeting my fear head on. This is a good thing. No?
Yesterday, I was feeling a bit unhappy with my writing these past few days and I confess that I am wondering if it is due to divided attention. I suppose it could be, or it could be me just trying whip up another reason to engage in fear.
I confess that I ready to continue to tackle my fears this next week and not let them own me. I will continue to work on some painting and I will write and write and write through this period until I again feel that what I'm getting on the page is worthy.