There is a phase/phrase familiar to artists—to painters, at least!—called 'the messy middle.' It occurs like this: you begin with a strong, lavish start, the direction of your original vision, the exploration of the initiating layers of the painting, those that will be eventually get covered up, so because of this they are only fun, a vibrant paradigm, the energy of earlier ages coming into being, the patterns of which will guide your way, explorational, generous, lavish. They are also relatively low-stakes because they don't have to end as anything. 

Then the farther you go into the painting process, the further along into the journey/story of it, you are actually making decisions now, to shape and sculpt these energies into coherent form. That is where things can begin to go wrong. And to me, it's not what Bob Ross calls a 'happy accident' because I am familiar with those, and turning them into something cool—rather it is a moment when I go too far trying something and... 'oh no, I've gone too far!' And, 'oh G!d, what have I done??!!??!' And you feel like you've ruined the painting and the thing that before looked so gorgeous, free, original, sublime, looks like a dog's dinner. After it comes out the other end of a dog. And you want to weep and you want to trash your canvas.

But after a while you learn to stay, to stay with it. I heard an artist teacher once say that what she thought were all her failed paintings were only ones she had given up on too soon. You stay with the messy middle and eventually it begins to take shape again. You do not abandon it any more than you would want to be abandoned. If it turns into something entirely other, so be it. But you stay with the painting and eventually it comes out the other side—not of the dog, but of this phase of the process of creation. And then you see what all the messy middle was for. Sometimes I suspect I would not cherish a painting so much if I didn't abide with it through this learning.

As I write this, Angels I is doing fine. The detail in the photograph hasn't gotten messy yet, yet I know it's coming. This time I experienced it with the play I'm directing, after a rehearsal with children running around because I'd had the bright idea to put children in the play, and so many moving parts that it felt utterly chaotic, my executive function completely over-fried because of all the decisions every second due to all the moving parts, and not feeling like I had a moment to direct at all, and Oh Lord what is this play actually going to be like when it's performed?!?!? Am I going to let down all of these talented people in the cast because I involved them in a disaster?

If I didn't paint, if I hadn't had this experience of painting, that might have ended me: not actually, because I am committed to see the play through, but it would have ended in a sense of dismay and loss of confidence. Because I do paint, I have the experience of faith which is my experience of the messy middle. That there is a reason this artwork wants to come into existence, and your job is just to stay with it and do everything you can to the best of your ability, to abide with it through the discomfort and let G!d do the rest. Stay with it, keep moving, respond to the moment, make changes as you need to, and at the end may not be a perfect thing, but it will be a thing of loveliness, love, and beauty. 

I'm grateful that the experience of an art form in three dimensions gave me perspective to deal with something happening in another art form, in four+ dimensions! Will Angels I be completed by the time of the New Moon Newsletter, on the 19th of November? ;o)