I want to be one of those people who creates for the joy of it, driven only by her own vision and interests, impervious to her own internal critic and the opinions of others. Just joyful and blissful and creative and confident. Or something. But that is so not who I am.
I took cards to Box Turtle yesterday. Heather was as welcoming and encouraging as ever. It's not that anything went wrong. It's just that she didn't take any of the new Christmas cards. So what looked cool and funky to me yesterday looks sad and tasteless to me today. The good news is that Heather actually asked me if I'm still doing collages and invited me to bring some by. BT hasn't carried my collage work since this time last year, so that's a GOOD thing. And Heather did take 15 other cards. I should be happy. But I'm feeling kind of embarrassed and apologetic.
And today I have a lunch appointment to show Margo my stuff. I get the crawlies thinking about it. There's no time to remake anything or change direction. I've got to go with what I've got. If Margo doesn't take the cards, either, I'll probably spend the whole weekend skulking around, kicking myself. If she loves them and takes bunches of them, I'll feel validated and start liking them again, myself.
I just sway in the wind of others' opinions. Well, of course I do. I'm trying to get them to transfer their cash to me. Their opinions matter. But I wish I could see those opinions more as market evaluations of the work instead of personal evaluations of me. My writing self outgrew this stage decades ago--is not only calloused to criticism but also dependent on and welcoming of feedback. It does not shake my confidence as a writer; it reinforces me. Let's hope I get to that point with my art soon.