Now, mind you, the real me is not into interior design. I have no eye for it nor am I particularly interested other than the end result when I'm watching David Bromstad on TV. The real me however does know about giving up on my dreams. I've done that countless times. And was in danger of doing that just recently. A few weeks ago I was chatting with an artist with whom I had become friendly. I happened to mention that I still take classes and came to painting late in life. She said "Oh, I thought you were...." and didn't finish the sentence but I did it for her. My mind went straight to "Oh, I thought you were a real artist."
How quickly I give my power away. I reeled against that for a couple of weeks. I finally talked myself into painting again but it wasn't until yesterday that I shared my work. They are perhaps not my best work but they are part of my healing process.
I know I'm a "real artist" but on that day my sensitivity became palpable (death to the artistic spirit). I can take constructive criticism but dismissal throws me back to childhood. I have to work to bring my self-esteem back to the reality of today. I'm all grown up. I'm an artist who is still learning and growing. Thank God for that.
Here are those paintings.
