Sometimes the timing is juuuust right. Or just, right. I don’t know if you can feel the subtle difference there, but I can.
Nine years ago, I participated in an art show called the 20/20. Twenty paintings by each of twenty artists, displayed throughout a gallery in Midtown, Sacramento for one month. I was super excited when I got in. The workload was very heavy, but wow, what growth! What a great opportunity to push myself! Individual artist's pieces were hung together in large grids, and participants were actually required to submit twenty-five paintings so that there would be back-ups in case works sold off the wall. No gallery wants a big gap up there.
(Paintings from the 2012 show)
But a lot has happened in nine years... Natalie, clots, selling-then-buying a house, moving to a far off land (cuz, yah, an hour can be far), two promotions for Guy with accompanying challenges, two sons moving out, caring for dad and his passing, and good old Hashimoto's. Art took a big step back. Like, back to the garage part of my brain.
But recently it stepped back up, and said, "hey! Hey you! Remember me? I make you happy. Move over a skootch and make some room for me." I began to think about the 20/20 show, and to wonder if it was still going on. Not three weeks later I received an email from the gallery inviting me to apply again.
Just right.
Do you ever get a little ping in your heart? Like, a soft little elevator-door-opening-sound that says, yup, or, ooooh, yah, baby...? It was like that, only less creepy. The email made that little *ping* in me (I hope you are saying it in your head with the right sound. Don't you dare just read "ping" like Kevin Costner is narrating your shopping list (he is by far the most boring narrator on the planet, and not just of shopping lists). Together, now: *ping!*
Just, right.
I printed the application and let it sit around here for a couple of weeks, pondering. I had to come up with a theme.
My usual painting theme is, "Because That's What I Felt Like Painting Today. Duh." Probably that would not have gone over well with the guest judges. The application said I needed a theeeeeme to tie all my works together. I think last time I just made some lame thing up, like "Crap Around My House" without using the word crap.
I started really praying about what I -should, could, would want- to paint TWENTY FIVE paintings about. I settled on making black and white hand carved s'graffito tiles (yes, that's a real word) and let that be the connective thread. I did one (if I do say so...) gorgeous tile. It took a booty-long time and I didn't get it fired in time (teeth stuff, darn it). I realized there is no way I could make twenty four more in less than two months. Nuh-uh.
Back to the drawing board (bwaaa-hahahaha, no, stop, I'm killing me) (but it was a painting board so now the joke isn't even funny). I pondered my life's experiences and wondered if I should tap into some of the darker chapters. Nope. Didn't feel right. Humor? Figures? Still-lifes? (that looks funny, and spell check is scolding me, but no, we don't paint 'still-lives', like sedentary old people. It's still-lifes. Still looks weird, though).
I finally prayed that God would help me paint something that would honor Him. In that moment a picture I had seen online popped into my head. It's of a little black and white bird with a golden breast, a warbler, that is mentioned in the book, "My Side of the Mountain". Jonah is reading it to me now. It's slow going, much harder than the last book, but boy - that kid is a trouper. So I said, "Okay, Lord," and that night I started painting.
I went through the usual agony of my process, which includes plenty of self doubt and a little bit of loathing (why am I doing this? I suck at this! Who am I kidding? Nevermind, I won't apply), and finally got through it.
I drove to Sacramento Friday afternoon. I was all jittery and shaky, even though I knew I was just dropping the painting off, and probably it would be some employee who took it and set it to the side with an unenthusiastic thank you, and that the judging wouldn't be till at least Monday, and that the worst they could say was that it was trite and kitsch and lacked sophistication (nothing I hadn't already said to myself, and I wouldn't be there to hear them), and then I would get a call Tuesday that said thank-you-for-applying-we-went-a-different-direction-but-please-consider-trying-again-next-year, goodbye. Why be nervous?
I stepped into the gallery but the front desk was empty, and I could hear voices in the back. I wandered a little heavy-footed through the space (hello! I'm here!) and then returned to the front. Eventually, the muffled conversation lulled and a head popped around the corner. It was the gallery owner, Misha (or Michael - his card says both, and I'm scared to get it wrong so I just said hi!), who recognized me a little, or is a good faker. My application sat on top of my small painting, which felt like a little kindness it was doing for me, hiding my probably-shameful painting for a few moments more. We made chit chat as he looked over my paperwork, then he pulled it aside to see the painting. He gave a tiny gasp and softly said, "Oh, my God, that's beautiful".
Instant relief. I was high. Just high. I floated a little, while he said that since he is not on the selection committee, he couldn't say, of course, but that if he were, he would certainly let me in the show, and that he imagined I would have no problem getting in.
I only have to wait a few more days, and after waiting for cancer test results three times this year, I hardly care. No. Big. Deal. Perspective, right? I let myself have the night off and met my sweetie for dinner and a tootle through Hobby Lobby, which is an awesome date night these days. But rather than wait to find out if I got in, I am going on a little hope, and last night I started the next few paintings. After all, if I do get in, I only have 55 days to get it all done. Timing, you know.
One down, twenty-four to go.
The last 20/20 in 2012 please don’t let her know how much weight she will gain in the next nine years!
