I’m staring at a clean canvas. It’s crisp. Clean. Untainted. Pure. It gleams in the light, almost glowing with perfection. Untouched. Untarnished.
I’m staring at the canvas. I have the paintbrush in hand. But I continue to stare. The palette of colors sit beside me. But I still continue to stare at that canvas. Scared to put a mark on its surface. What if I make a mistake? I cannot erase the lines the paint creates. What if the lines blur? What if the colors mix? What if I cannot create the picture that is inside my mind? The canvas will never reflect the picture I want to paint.
That clean canvas is intimidating. The fear of ruining the canvas stops me from dipping the paintbrush in the paint. So I just stare at the canvas. There is a part of me who wants to keep the canvas blank. It keeps the canvas open to all sorts of ideas, interpretations, anything can appear on the canvas when imagination comes into play.
But, the canvas cannot stay blank. I have to paint something. I cannot just sit and stare at the blank canvas. It needs color. So I look at the palette. I look at the paintbrush. I take a breath. And I dip the paintbrush into the watercolor. I don’t know what I’m going to paint but it’s time to start painting.