This happened the other night in my new art journal. My husband and I were sitting in the same double-wide Lazy-Boy chair as we often do watching a boring movie and I'm staring at a blank page with my little watercolor set handy. So, I begin to play with abstract imagery. But my darling farmer needs it to be something. We discuss why that is necessary "that it be something" for the sake of interesting conversation. He sees a horse.. maybe a horse with wings. It wasn't long before I wanted him to see the horse so I begin to manipulate the drawing with him saying, "no, here", "no there".. "it should have...." and there it went. And it was an interesting collaboration to say the least. But, I was having so much fun his fingers began to itch. So I handed him a blank page because I swear there is a frustrated artist inside the man just waiting to be let out. But, it vanished as he began to describe what he could do... if he did do....... we all know the feeling. One time, long ago, I know there was a child artist in him that didn't care about making mistakes or being perfect, but just drawing and painting for the sheer love of it. But for the life of me, I haven't been able to coax him out to play. Except to hand me colors for my own coloring book.
But it does beg the question: where in own lives do we lock our own grown selves up in comfort zones afraid to venture out to play just in case we ran into that bully named Fear of Failure?