Balyes’ blatantly simple “book about making art” propels me to normalize myself as an artist, but more importantly as a human. As an artist, I do not climb into bed at 2 AM and unlearn the harmful habits instilled into my creative procedure. The impulse to work until I’m satisfied with my working canvas is hard to remove, and my health deteriorates as a result. Identifying the source of my internalized perfectionism is much harder, and my biggest fear is not to display unsatisfactory work, but to have any at all.
Balyes unravels this in Art and Fear, which thoroughly dissects infamous fears in embracing “imperfect” artwork. My specific fear is relentlessly pressed in Balyes’ work until it irritates like acne I can no longer ignore. It does not fade away immediately as I tend to it, but the act itself allows me to feel better.
The fear of my outside image and how I look to others identifies itself in my brain. It circulates my general consciousness and bleeds into my workflow, until my arm hesitates so much I can’t make my next stroke in my sketchbook. It distracts me from why I continue to draw- enjoyment found in adding pressure from graphite to paper. Thrill found in moving my arms and hands simultaneously to draw. Therapeutic happiness found in the characters, stories, patterns, and themes unraveling as I open my sketchbook to draw again.
I shove fear aside to approach why I continue to draw. I learned it’s name as joy. Joy explains that artists are not machines to be broadcasted on How It’s Made, a show that plays when we are most active together. Joy notes this as my favorite show to watch as a kid, and to watch when I’m happy.
Joy adds that artists are people who enjoy things. And our artwork is akin to clay, because our efforts churn out of our hands with an unpredictable mold and texture, and we have no idea if it’ll hold up or display properly. What matters is that clay is fun to use.
In my future 12 at midnight- I’ll think about Joy, climb into bed, and realize this is okay.
nemo 