Fear of Failure

All of my life, I have been afraid of failing. Luckily, I was a good student, and things came easily for me in school, or my story would be very different. When it comes to athletics or creativity, any talent I have, I struggled to achieve. 

What is under that leaf you might wonder. Hang on. I'll show you.

Basically, if I don't succeed at something with my initial exposure, I tend to walk away, and I don't look back. I do better with things that are incremental, like when I used to lift weights. It was easy to start light, and progress to heavier weights. And when I began taking pictures as a little girl, I was happy if pictures were in focus, and I didn't cut off any heads, or have my finger in the picture. It wasn't until later in life that I took my photography seriously, and now I love it.

In high school and college, I took art classes. I had some fun with drawing, but painting intimidated me. I remember I did a painting with acrylics of some pine trees shrouded by fog. I loved the original work I copied; mine, not so much. It was missing something, but I had no idea what. 

My stepmom and my aunt are artists, and both of them are good at painting. I have friends who are crazy-talented with a paintbrush. One day I would love to paint a picture that does not embarrass me. 

Chuck has encouraged me to return to my art. He would love for me to start sketching and painting. I have thought it might be fun, but then I wonder, what if I'm bad at it? I haven't done much drawing in years, unless you count drawing Peppa the Pig for Miss V. 

Credit: Christine Thornton

So, I mustered up some courage, and I signed up for a painting class. "Fall birch trees" sounded lovely. The siren song of all things autumn sang to me, and on an impulse, I registered for the free painting workshop at our Saint Charles library. 

Oh, lordy, what had I done?

When I arrived, the room was full of old women and one man. No offense to the folks, but let's face it, any class offered at one in the afternoon isn't going to be full of college students, stay-at-home moms, or people who are gainfully employed. We were all retirees. 

Each work station was outfitted with a sheet of watercolor paper, watercolor pencils, markers and pencils. There was a beautiful print of fall birch trees for us to copy. I began to feel very nervous. 

I wanted to capture the richness in the sample, with dark shadows and jewel-toned colors.

Paint brushes put fear in my heart. They seem to have a will of their own. This class by Christine Thornton appealed to me because we were going to use water color PENCILS, and then apply a bit of water with paintbrushes to activate the paint. It seemed safer than a full-on painting class with palettes and tubes of paint. 

As I painstakingly tried to copy the teacher, I realized I was taking most of the fun out of it for me. My fear of failure reared its ugly head. 

When Christine stood in front of me, and picked up my painting, I could barely breathe. She said something that had an encouraging tone, but I was so anxious, I had no idea what words she said. All I knew was my painting did not match the original beside my own, and I was disappointed. 

Good grief! Doesn't the red blob look like a humongous cardinal hugging the tree?

Teachers can encourage and cajole all they want, but it is up to the student to be teachable. We were reminded time and time again that our work would be our own, and would not be identical to the sample. I didn't care. I wanted mine to look that good. Never mind that I haven't taken an art class in over three decades.

As soon as she concluded class, I cleaned up my supplies, and headed home. I didn't even stay for the librarian's photo of our group. 

At my kitchen table, I studied my painting. There were things I liked; the birch trees' markings, the shadows on the trunks, and the way the colors blended between the trees. There were things I hated; the too-bright colors, the blob of red leaves on the left that looked like a humongous cardinal hugging the birch tree. 

As I looked at my painting, I had ideas of how I could improve it. I decided I wanted a mulligan. Maybe if I practiced, I would get better. (I know; some of us are pretty dense.)

Amazon will be delivering my Derwent watercolor pencils and my cold press watercolor paper today. I might not get my painting to look just like the professional's, but I bet I can make improvement on my own. That seems a goal worthy of a beginner. And I have to remember that is exactly what I am, a beginner.

Here's to being willing to fail without being afraid. Seeing fear fade into the distance of my rear-view mirror will be a welcome sight.