Often, we cringe when we look at our first efforts: our first oil painting, our first poem, our first published book, our first song, our first designs, our first photographs, our first stage performance and the list can go on. ‘Why do we do that?’ We can easily look at the first attempts of others and tell them that they did well and encourage them; when we look at our own first efforts, we apply a harsher treatment.
Our inner critic is always at work and that is an uncomfortable automatic (inner-evaluator) reality we cannot live without (unfortunately). However, if we could mute those impulses for a moment and replace self-scrutiny with a positive or a more accepting glance, we may arrive at gratitude perhaps. I am sure you must have heard stories of people who were not at all interested in learning to paint or learning to play a particular musical instrument, but through a series of fortunate events they discovered they had a remarkable talent for something they did not want to do at first; we often envy these folks because they were destined for stardom; I think, they are in the minority. Most of us, learn the hard way. We have a talent or an interest but it is perhaps not that remarkable, but we try repeatedly until something happens that appeals to us and then the great resolution to become successful somehow grabs us – if we persist.
I watched the documentary on Ralph Lauren during a flight – I could not sleep – and I learnt how his lovely brand started. It was not an easy road, but he started somewhere with just one sample tie (if I remember correctly). We may not want to build a brand, but we are surely trying to get better at what we are doing, therefore all the more reason to acknowledge that we respect the start of our respective journeys, because for most of us who are still persisting (tenaciously sometimes), there has been a happy harvest of successes which followed our first mistakes – if we look back with the accepting glance. These successes maybe not yet have given us loads of money, but they gave us the honey of contentment, satisfaction and a greater measure of self-knowledge.
I did not show that much talent as a child for the arts, but I knew I wanted to be a visual artist (in some way or another). This was one of the first spontaneous watercolour sketches I made when I was still at school. I smile when I look at it now, because it is free and void of learnt technique. I made three of these sketches in one day as part of our weekend art homework. I learned back then, that I could not completely control watercolour; it is a medium that requires a good measure of self-confidence and happy “accidents”. Our first efforts opened the door to a hunger for discovery and learning. The knowledge that not everything can be controlled – because arty moments often overshadow our intentions and bypass our brain – is added to our consciousness.
We should treasure our first efforts; they affirm our belief that we could somehow make it happen. Make a cup of coffee or tea and let us look at the photographs of our first attempts together and smile a broad smile with gusto, seeing that we have progressed a merry mile. Let us think of how we have built on those first efforts, often with self-doubt and uncertainty, but little miracles started to sprout and bloom along the arty rugged road.
We have each indeed acquired a “personal” brand of art works (be it in a portfolio, in an anthology, in an album of songs or as outfits in our wardrobes, for example) and even if they may be destined to remain (only) in our personal domains, we still smile and say: ‘I started here (smile please) and see how I have grown, my techniques improved, I took better photographs, a friend helped me here and then I learnt that if you …’
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