CathyO's learning curve - (more ranting about talent)

I was wildly excited when this one arrived. It looked like an idea that I could execute quickly and easily. My attempts were dismal. Luckily, I just did them on scratch paper. CathyO, happily retired, has been taking a lot of classes and I believe this is an example of something she learned in a class. She clearly had all kinds of valuable information dispensed that she put to good use. I didn't feel bad about not being able to replicate the loveliness just by looking at one example. I know from experience that lessons are going to be way more efficient than trying to just figure it out on your own.

Which brings us to day two of my rant about how annoying it is when people think my work is something special and insist that I was born with talent. I know for a fact that I was not. I know that everything I did was a nice try, but it was untrained. It wasn't until I majored in art that I actually learned how to do things that were decent. And I also noticed that there were some people who were always ahead of me on the learning curve. They put in more hours than I did. Drawing and painting (my major) was a ton of fun - but it didn't consume me.

It wasn't until I started taking calligraphy classes in my 40s that I was consumed, obsessed, captivated, and enthralled with lettering. I recalled that learning the alphabet had been my first obsession as a very young child,  just prior to my 3rd birthday. I was over 40 when I stumbled into calligraphy and discovered what to do with that little gift that I was born with. Happily, my fine art degree dovetailed nicely with the random calligraphy classes that I have been able to squeeze in.

So -- I rode the wave. I (nearly) perfected a couple styles. Putting in a ridiculous amount of time was the only way to achieve that near perfection. And now, it feels fine to be more relaxed and explore other ways to feed the beast. 

Tomorrow, I will have something to say about finding contentment.

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Wow -- above was written pre brain injury.

And I just remembered how Matisse turned to cutting paper in his later years when he could no longer paint. I can't remember what it was -- arthritis?

Not that I've been stressed over the possibility that my skills have been damaged. I've been relaxing my expectations for quite a while.