So today, despite some pain and anxiety, I’m feeling better about the future. I would say I feel hopeful, which happens for me once in a while. I often need to cross off things off my To-do list to see what I’ve directly accomplished. I mean, it depends on what gets crossed off, I guess.

Many of the things on my To-do list are broken down into smaller tasks. Sometimes it feels like it’s a cross-country hike before anything gets accomplished, and I like to feel accomplished. I’d say half my projects are in process. They’re all at different stages, but at least they are in progress. Unfortunately, I ignore the progression because I obsess (a little) over being able to mark the items “done” on that fucking To-do list! This is a lifelong problem.

I also don’t “count” all the contemplation/thinking time, planning, sketching, and writing as “working,” but it is working. It all “counts,” whatever that means! Who’s counting anyway? Little gremlins? The little gremlins in my head. I wonder when I will finally pat myself on the back for some of these things, but it feels so awkward to do that ever.

Finishing a whole book in a month is nothing to fart on. Completing a giant exhibition proposal is also impressive. Why aren’t I impressed with myself? I don’t think it’s in my makeup, but I’m trying to force myself to look at it. These are accomplishments, after all.

The embellished artist’s book still sits on my drafting table, pretty much untouched. If I just made time to draw the last drawing in the back of the book (four more times), I’d be a third of the way done with the whole shebang. Oh yeah, and sew their bindings, too. Then it would be 1/3 done. (I wrote this before yesterday, and am done with the first 10 books now! Woot!)

I wanted to get to that 1/3 mark before I cleaned off the table to work on another project. I’m obviously not feeling it. Though sometimes, you have to do things you don’t feel like doing to make room for what comes next. (Now I’m about ready to start on the “next” thing.)

And what comes next? I think I’ll start working on the clock drawings for the What Remains exhibition. After thinking about it for a while now, I’ve decided to make them all different sizes and on different types of paper. I LOVE paper. It’s a wonder I don’t make everything on paper, but there’s a time and place for it. But I wish I had more specialty paper. I have a lot, but never enough, and never enough variety. I picture that area of the exhibit with lots of different sizes, colors, and shades of beige and off-white. Going from left to right, that wall will transition from a grid of clock drawings to patients’ medical notes, handwritten sentences that fade, to old, partially erased photographs. Depending on the size of the wall (and which venue), I won’t really know how wide to make the drawing grid—another barrier that befalls me. Damn it.

Then, there are the new paintings I’m antsy to start. I haven’t even made the first experiment/prototype yet. I need to do that before ordering all the custom wooden shapes. I may have enough room to work on both the drawings and those paintings at the same time; it depends on whether I paint on the wood on a flat surface or on the easel. I won’t know for sure until after I figure out how hanging them is going to work. Hannah says she has an idea for a simple solution.

Now is the time to pick no more than three of my projects to work on. My mind gets too scattered when I look at my plans all at once. It’s like looking at the tippy top of the mountain when you’re just starting on your trek. It’s better to focus on one small distance at a time. Eventually, you’ll get there. Hopefully, anyway.

And while all this is going down, I have school. It’s only the second week, but it’s already been filled with hard work—a ton of reading and dozens of quizzes. It’s all very interesting. I do love learning.

My ASL class doesn’t actually start until October. Then it’s crammed into an eight-week session. It’s going to be intense. If it’s really too much for me, I might have to drop it and look for a class spread across a normal semester. I’m keeping this as an option so I don’t get overwhelmed.

I also have to start writing my next newsletter later this week. (Just sent it out.) It will be early, but I figured I should promote my online workshop in time for more people to register. I’ve been on the fence about canceling it for the last few weeks, but yesterday I wrote my notes for the class progression. All that makes me a bit nervous (this is where the anxiety is coming from), because I haven’t been the most eloquent speaker in the last several years.

Actually, it began in 2015. Not that I was super eloquent back then, but I could be more myself, and I wasn’t thinking about myself so much. Up to that point, I’d given several lectures at universities. But then I suddenly got nervous around students right after I was the guest teacher at the Mayfair Senior Arts Conservatory in Pasadena. That fucked me up, and I haven’t had that confidence since.

Maybe I told this story before—about how the class had been studying my work for over three months before I came. I wasn’t aware of this when I got there. The teacher simply asked me to come talk to the students and teach a simple drawing class. I had no idea what was about to unfold.

Long story short-ish, it was seriously intense. I can say it was sweet and flattering, but it went way beyond that. It was much too much, and I couldn’t handle it. One day, I’ll try to figure out why this happened. In the end, I got severely dissociated, and it lasted like a months-long panic attack.

The teacher made the art curriculum about me, and I mean, not just my art or even me as an artist. It was about me as a person. They all knew about me, my past, my family, my history. The kids were complimenting me all over the place, and I hadn’t even gotten started with the lesson. It was so surreal.

They must have studied my entire website and everything else about me online. They seemed to know about my whole life. The curriculum was following the subject of Authenticity, which is a topic I hold dear. I started to get teary-eyed.

Along with my life’s work, they were using me as an example from The Velveteen Rabbit. Apparently, the teacher was emphasizing artists like Van Gogh and why he made such impactful work. Somehow, I represented this? They even gave me a limited-edition copy of the book, along with a custom Space Pen engraved with my name. Whaaa? They knew this was the pen I used in my sketchbook process. The entire class got their own Fisher Space Pen and a little moleskin notebook (just like mine) to use during my drawing class.

Afterward, they took me into their gallery space, where all the students made their own versions of my paintings. The paintings circled the room like the Ayin show. I tried my damnedest not to burst into tears. I just couldn’t take all that acknowledgment of what I do, my life, and how I was being deeply seen and validated. I’ve never experienced anything like it, and obviously, that’s never happened before.

I left there feeling so odd. Uncomfortable, like I didn’t deserve any of it. My self-deprecating brain lifted its ugly-ass head and did quite a number on me. I just didn’t know what to make of it. I never realized I could inspire all those young people.

I know this story is remarkable and beautiful, but for whatever reason, I haven’t been the same since—not when it comes to talking to a group of people, students, kids, or anyone open to listening to me. The experience made me completely introverted. I know it was meant to celebrate my work, but I guess it didn’t align with how I see myself, which is too bad. In a way, I think I’ve come a long way since then. Lots of ups and downs between then and now. Lots of lessons learned. I think I’m better. My anxiety isn’t as crippling. My view of myself has improved. Now I just have to get used to public speaking. I know it’s a common fear, and maybe I’ll eventually get over it after the winter semester, when I’m actually taking Public Speaking. LOL!