The Best is Yet to Come
Moving into the new studio, I came across a series of old work. As is typical, when I encounter previous drawings, I was taken back. These were not demo pieces, or quick studies. No, this was work I had poured myself into. Work I thought was the best of me. Work that, at one point, brought me the slightest ting of pride. But now, staring down at a stack of drawings no one else wanted, I am appalled and somewhat embarrassed.
The amateur blending, the missed value sets, the underdeveloped forms, how could I have ever felt pride in this work? The urge to destroy what is behind me begins to take root. Maybe for the first time, I finally see my work objectively. I'm not sure I can still call this art, with the passing of time softening the creator/creation instinct of love and projection.
I dig a pit for myself with a systematic, destructive critique. As I stare at the work, the pieces begin to hurl insults and seed self-doubt in rapid secession. I start to worry this is how viewers interact with my drawings, and I'm thankful I have the detachment to see things from their perspective. The downward spiral of negativity begins and gains momentum. I glance around at the frames hanging on the walls and anticipate the day when this work too will condemn me.
Before I fall too far, I make an effort to pull myself out of the pit because I know that I must. I attempt to console myself with logic and reason. If I could generate my reality, would I construct it different? Would I prefer the work I dig out of the drawer be as good as my renderings today? Would it comfort me if old drawings were even better than my new work? If so, I would have to be content, knowing I am a stagnant artist or recognizing the best of myself is behind me. I am dealing with diminishing return in other areas of my life – and vow to keep it out of the studio for now and for as long as I can.
Like a mirage that vanishes when you get near it, the idea of my 'greatest' work is always a moving target. By the time I sign my name to my newest piece, it is already passed tense. I carry with me to channel into future projects, the highs and lows of the work and the technical challenges of each piece. But, like a polaroid snapshot of my artistic life, the work itself stops with that signature. A sudden feeling of nostalgia washes over me, as if I'm looking at my childhood photos, and I search for something I can still admire in this old stack of drawings.
I ought to find relief, not shame, in the growth between yesterday and today. Knowing this evolution, I should celebrate that my best is yet to come. So, I cannot stand behind my masterpiece because I know I have not yet started to draw it.