To End? To Begin? Or to Be in the Middle?

“It’s the journey, not the destination…Like a Buddhist sand mandala, an elaborate pattern drawn with sand that is blown away as as soon as the artists finish it, nature reinforces the concept that creativity is about the process, not the final product.” – From an article by Catherine Newman in which she interviewed Keri Smith, one of my favorite artists.

I have just completed an eBook I’ve been working on. I’ve sent it off to be edited, and now I sit and wait. Or do I? I’m watching myself with a tilted head and a inquisitive stare because I should be pretty happy and settled. I’ve completed a task! Now, don’t get me wrong, there is a sense of accomplishment that any achiever could muster up, but there is also a sort of dread. When I was in the middle I was safe. I had something in action. I had clarity on what my writing time could be spent on. My hands were dirty and my head was down and I was lost in the moment. But now all that’s over with and I’m realizing it’s hard to know what to do with your hands when the end has come to a project. For a good week I stalled on putting the finishing touches on the book because I subconsciously knew if I was done I would have to face another beginning.

There is that bully of a beginning breathing down my neck. As an artist it’s always scary to begin again. Every time. It takes a sort of gearing up to jump into something new, and I’m asking the same questions all over again, “Do I have what it takes? Is my voice important? Am I saying anything you haven’t heard before a thousand times?” The voice of resistance has to be quieted all over again, and I have to convince myself once again that I am worthy to add my two cents into a noisy world. A new beginning is so magical in movies, but sitting in front of a blank sheet of paper or staring down a blinking cursor is not as romantic as one may think.

With this project I have watched myself with new eyes, and I realize the paradox that lies in my creating. Unhappy with the beginning for fear I won’t have another creative idea worth fleshing out, or that I’ll be incapable of fleshing it out. Impatient with the middle because in the middle I have nothing to show for myself. No finished work to hold out at arms length and say, “Look at me world. And oh by the way, please like me.” And at the end, I mourn the loss of that messy, time-consuming middle and all that it has made me.

I’m convinced it’s the middle that changes a person. The messy middle where experiments are being conducted, where time is forgotten, where the wrestling occurs and every now and then one is greeted by the sudden burst of an enlightening break through.

Oh don’t get me wrong,  I long to be a glorious starter, applauded for the big tasks I am ambitiously taking on, and I live to be a valiant finisher, highly esteemed for the passionate works I have to show for myself. There is little recognition in the middle. In essence, as an artist, I just sort of disappear in the middle. And yet, oddly so, it’s the middle that makes me who I am. It’s the middle that transforms character, bleeds passion and gives me a sense of purpose. It’s the middle that keeps life from getting boring, that keeps my heart alive, my hands moving, my brain thinking, my muscles from atrophying.

As I look back on my life, I see it’s the hard work of the middle (the gut-wrenching, core building hard work) that moves me to tears. As an artist, we affect others with our endings. What they see, for the most part, is our finished projects. But we ourselves are affected by our middles. God grant me the eyes to see the importance of being right smack-dab in the middle. Help me to be content with it. Help me to grow accustomed to it. Help me to value and love the struggle for the transformation it is triggering in me. Let me be content with my middles and let that contentment flow naturally into my beginnings and my ends.

Tagged as: art, artist