Racer in the Gate...finding the flow...

Racer.......

READY....

Visual--20 year old me at the top of a race course: Perched with my ski boots pressed against the starting gates, poles stretched in front-- ready to fling myself onto a course I've been training for, for years...and all I can think of was "just what WAS I thinking when I decided this was a good idea??!!" --progressing to-- "you are out of your flippin' mind if you think you're gonna make that turn around that 3rd gate without blowing out" and desperately mind and body do what's it's been training to do...

trying to suppress further visions of impending knee surgeries, should thought 2 become a reality. Focus, turn off the noise, and let your mind and body do what it's been training to do...

Bam! I blast out of the gates, "find my rhythm", "be early for that turn", "carve the edge", "that was too tight a turn" "I'm losing it" "OMG that next rut is going to eat me alive!!"....

"find my rhythm" "carve" "let my skis sing" and whoosh past the finish gate?

Sometimes I did well, sometimes I didn't, and a few times, I had knee surgery. Regardless, I always cherished the moments when my intensively trained flow took over and silenced the negative noise.

Same thing when I paint, or do a talk, or workshop, or agree to a commission. The fear of the blank canvas, the audience, the task I agreed I could do--and that little voice saying "you are out of your flippin' mind if you think this is going to end well" --moving on to-- thoughts of career alternatives. The initial joy of creating, followed by that "this is total rubbish" stage. It's then that I dig deep, and deeper still to find my flow...

Bam! That first mark on my canvas, that opening statement, "find my flow", "carve that mark"... "this is total rubbish", "I'm losing my touch, my audience, my vision"... "OMG, I should've been anything but an artist"... "find my flow", "let my brush go", "let the work sing" and whoosh past the finish gate.

I don't think I'll ever lose my fear of the first mark, my opening words, my initial proposals. I know I'll also always cherish the joys of the journey, made more poignant by those fears, and hope that you, my supporters and collectors, truly enjoy the outcomes.