We're all well acquainted with physical distancing, that set of measures intended to prevent the spread of a contagious disease by maintaining a physical distance between people and reducing the number of times people come into close contact with each other. Thank you, COVID-19, for affording plenty of practice with that guiding principle.
Then there's what I call decision distancing, that set of measures intended to prevent decision burnout by making one overarching decision with clear mental distance from a particular set of circumstances, and then sticking to the decision in the heat of any moment that puts one into close contact with the identified set of circumstances. If you want to cut back on desserts, don't do your decision-making with a piece of chocolate cake on a plate in front of you and a fork in your hand!
In the heat of a moment, late yesterday afternoon, in my studio, while I stood with paintbrush in hand, and work-in-progress in front of me, my gremlins started yammering. Ugly, ugly, ugly. You don't know what you're doing. This is stupid. Who has time for this nonsense?
I was ready to throw in the towel. My chest was heavy, my mood horrible.
But I backed away, got a good night's sleep. This morning I reasserted—this time from a distance, away from my studio—my overarching decision to commit to daily painting, adding to the decision the words regardless of outcome.
Whew! Much better.
Back to painting. Decision made. End of discussion.
Back to experimentation. Back to engaging with discovery. Back to attuning myself to the flow and therapeutic energy of process. Back to the physical act of playing with paint.
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| didn't like this postcard, got out the black gesso |
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| buh-bye, red and green |
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| wanted to play with blues, played with blues |
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| happy hand with paint on it |
