Apples and Oranges (and Dandelion Fluff)
This weekend I looked at the work of a fabulously talented art journal artist* and felt a familiar sinking feeling.
Two thoughts swept through me, almost simultaneously.
Thought #1: Her work is incredibly good.
Thought #2: My work sucks.
Don’t you love how those two seem to arrive in pairs like that? Like Frick & Frack, or Ozzie & Harriet.
It’s Not Jealousy, But It’s A Close Cousin.
Not to split hairs, but I wasn’t begrudging the fabulously talented art journal artist her fabulous talent. I didn’t resent her good fortune or want to strip it from her. I was just envious of it. Wishful for some of the same. And in the face of that envy, I was demeaning my own stuff.
Not a good thing. Not helpful to me or to my stuff.
Something That Might Actually Help
Leaving aside the internal argument that took place in the immediate aftermath of these two thoughts (I’ll come back to it in a minute), let me tell you what I did next. Because — unlike that internal argument — this might actually be useful to you, should similar thoughts ever come up along your own artful adventure.
I found the artist’s resume.
It wasn’t hard. It was right there on her web site. So I clicked through and scrolled down to see the path of her artful adventure.
Turns out her art journaling has been a decades-long endeavor. She’s been at it forever. No wonder it’s so beautiful. She’s put in her 10,000 hours. She’s achieved mastery.
I’m still a journeyman. Journey-person. I have a few thousand hours to go.
Apples and…
You’ve heard of apples and oranges. This is more like apples and dandelion fluff. The fabulously talented art journal artist is at the ripe-fruit stage. I’m at the floating-through-the-air-on-my-way-to-find-fertile-soil stage.
And there’s one more thing.
I looked a little closer at the resume. I scrolled down to the early exhibits, the ones from decades ago. Guess what. They were of the small-ish sort. They were local. They were farther apart. Years, sometimes.
Hmm.
The fabulously talented art journal artist had started small, just like the rest of us.
A First Aid Kit for Self-Inflicted Bruises
I don’t know how to avoid the comparison thing. It seems to happen in a flash. Those thoughts of mine came one right on the heels of the other. How are we to head them off when we can’t even see them coming?
Frankly, I’m not sure it’s possible.
I do know that arguing with yourself when this stuff comes up — like I did, for a few wasted moments — is next to useless. Denying your less-than-lovely feelings about your work — I suck! (No, you don’t!) — just makes them go to ground, where they’ll continue to burrow and churn.
That’s why it’s good to have a speedy remedy nearby, a first-aid kit for the bruises that come when you get sucker-punched into false comparison by your internal critic.
Here’s what you need in your kit:
- A supply of whatever art-making materials you like to use.
- A stretch of time to use them.
Keep your kit in your Creative Backpack, ready to pull out whenever your critic pronounces someone else’s art to be better than yours. Because the only real answer is, So what?
Or maybe, Where is my Cerulean blue?
Apples and dandelion fluff, dear reader. There’s just no comparison.
* * *
*Here is the link to the website of that fabulously talented art journal artist, Ingrid Dijkers. I put it down here so you wouldn’t go there right away and get swept up in her art and forget to come back. Go to the gallery section to see her art journals. You will weep, they are that good.
