freedom & frustration

How is it that I can be faced with all the freedom in the world, and respond with nothing but fear and frustration?

I am coming to realize more and more that I lack motivation out of a sense of guilt and/or duty. I always feel that I ought to be doing something other than my own work, and that I must have express permission to do what I would like to do.

I have the whole day to myself, and have been encouraged to do art all day without feeling any guilt whatsoever about not doing anything else (like making things that others have requested, or cleaning the house). So I’m up at dawn, having set up my art supplies the night before. I sit at my art desk with everything accessible, dog curled up at my feet, Radio Paradise on low.

But…eeesh. There’s a blank canvas staring at me. That’s daunting. Paint. I have an idea of what I’d like to do, but I still don’t know if I’m quite ready for that just yet. Maybe I’ll warm up a bit by doodling with markers in my sketchbook. This is proving to be not so fruitful either.

Suddenly I find myself crying. Then crying becomes sobbing. Deep, hard sobs.

What has happened? What’s wrong with me? What is this deep-seated frustration and why can I not simply draw some colorful poppies? I don’t know the specifics, but I think the freedom is too much for me to handle. I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know in what medium I feel comfortable. Just sitting down to “create something” is too tall of an order. Too lofty. Too vague. I have my choice of any medium, but I’m daunted by all of them. I’m not even sure that it’s a fear of failure or imperfection that stunts the creative flow.

I fear that my medium is here on the page, which is why I’m writing until the urge to cry subsides. But facing this fear and telling myself that I’m perfectly capable of creating whatever I want to create only makes me more emotional.

I don’t think it’s the fear of NOT being able to do something that makes me tearful. It’s accepting positive thoughts about myself and my abilities that always prove unbearably touching. I can handle criticism like a champ, but compliments and beauty undo me. In wanting to participate in everything creative and beautiful, I find myself completely frozen. I desperately want to accept permission from myself as readily as from others. I wish I knew what I ought to do. And I feel silly that these are the questions floating around in the cocktail of doubt that is my subconscious. I guess I just wish I were a stronger person with a stronger sense of direction.

My solution for today will be to take refuge in some good music & coffee, cuddle with the pup, and write until I have something worthy to commit to paper on my beautiful Remington. Surely this is the stuff of inspiration.