It’s a painting; a work of art. It’s not a picture window. It’s not even a photograph.

It’s paint, and what does paint do? It drips.

Given the opportunity, wet paint will run carelessly through the paintings I so carefully constructed.

Thass just how paint do.

I love that about paint.

I like when an artist gives her medium the liberty to do its thing. Like, when clay sculptures have finger shaped impressions and lumps…cracks even; Paintings that reveal the staple holes in the corners where the paper needed more than tape to support its weight plus paint, and the brushstrokes left wild and untidy…. and the drips… ah the drips…..where the artist gave her paint the freedom to do what it naturally does. Why do I love these traits? Because it means it wasn’t manipulated to death, it wasn’t handled and pushed to the point of becoming unrecognizable. When a medium is worked so hard that it doesn't look like itself, there is something missing…. It’s life. It’s missing the imperfections of reality. Without some “flaws”, the art is rendered lifeless. Lifeless art? Eh. No thank you.

Doesn’t that sound familiar? There go my paintings again… talkin bout life and stuff. Don’t you recognize how many of us are doing the same damn thing? Stripping the life out of ourselves in order to seem flawless. Well, the jig is up, folks. Paint drips, and we do, too.

What if we could display ourselves like a confident artist hangs her imperfect work? What if we stepped back and gave ourselves permission to be slightly unfinished? Is that “less is more” stuff really possible? Can doing less feel more complete? Would we feel less overwhelmed? Dare I say, less anxious? In fact, maybe there is intention in our drips, completion in our incomplete state, purpose in our flaws, ideals in our ugly? Is it possible that what we hide was meant to be seen? When I look at life through my artist’s eyes, I see that perhaps our best self is the cracked and drippy version. To smear is human. And if we are smearing, that must mean we are living; moving, doing, acting on heartfelt impulse… not hesitantly waiting to dry, waiting for perfect conditions before we step out into the world. To wait on perfection would be a long one. We are living beings constantly changing into someone more complex with each day. And, that means we are always in progress. There is no stagnant state in a lifetime, and there is no evolvement without change, and what is change without a mess? Are you trackin’?? When it comes to making improvements, we all know big messes are part of the process. So, why do we wanna hide our process, when the mess shows that we are doing cool things? Why are we so compelled to blend out the fingerprints?

In the grocery store line last week, I noticed the word anxiety on multiple magazine covers. It is a buzz word as of late. I gotta be honest, it makes me cringe a little. It’s become a millennial trend to be ridden with “anxiety”. I say that in quotes because what I’m referring to is not the real and true condition that many struggle with deeply in a physical and paralyzing way, which is why it irks me that it has become a term to be used so lightly. Now we applaud celebrities for stepping into the light, for admitting they battle “anxiety”. We honor those who put the spotlight on their struggle, and I suppose this is an effort to make others who deal with the issue feel less alone. Good intentions, but all I can think about is the root question: why now do we all have this anxiety? Why are we applauding their brave choice to admit they have this issue, rather than discussing why there is a need to do that in the first place? Why suddenly, is everyone eaten up with worry and stress and exhaustion? Why are we eating ourselves alive in an effort to look less chewed up?

Comparison has been called the thief of joy. And, we as a society are constantly comparing. It’s no wonder we have so much anxiety and depression. But, then, when a seemingly perfect celebrity admits they are, in fact, wait for it…human…..that they too are tangled up in a knot of “anxiety”, it is suppose to be an admirable admission of vulnerability. But, what the hell man? Does that actually do anything to help those who struggle with this exhausting brand of stress? I mean, I don’t look at that magazine cover and feel like I should make some healthy choices in my life to release the tension. It makes me feel like the tension is normal. This magazine headline is normalizing stress. It glamorizes it even, and, to me, this further identifies the problem at hand: that we are cyclical creatures of comparison, and since comparison itself induces the feeling of inadequacy, comparison continually contributes to the cycle… comparison is actually the key ingredient. We are using comparison to cook up anxiety, and we’re reheating the leftovers over and over again, and serving it out in the grocery store line. We are making ourselves physically sick by eating up the illusion of perfection. Never mind that perfection is not real or even possible.

Instead of checking ourselves based on our similarity to another, shouldn’t we instead be making sure we are similar enough… to ourselves? … as close as possible to the honest to God real version of who we were designed to be? I think the most satisfying feeling in the world must be to fully realize yourself and dive into it, head first; big, drippy splash and all, without the first apology.

Real art is not about comparison. I love that about art; it is all about interpretation, from the artist’s initial inspiration to the viewer’s take on the result, and whatever happens in between. A painter takes a scene, a vision, a sensation or an emotion, and she reacts to it and recreates it with her hands and heart and her own unique God given ability. And some will say (me, I say:)….the more unique the interpretation, the better the art… or, at the very least, the more exciting the art. So, when a painting perfectly recreates a scene we have already looked at, why would we call it art? If it is not a unique interpretation, then it is only a duplication… a Xerox copy, and we have a machine to do that for us. When art is simply a copy, what’s the point? Unless, instead of a Xerox copy, the art is a brand new interpretation, a unique and reimagined treat for the eyes. These are the paintings that get celebrated for being boldly one of a kind.

You already knew paint drips before you read this essay. And, I don’t have to tell you that my paintings are made out of paint. My landscapes are not created with grass and water. No, they are made of drippy, slow drying oil paint gently rendered to resemble a scene, an emotion, a moment in time. I am telling you this because I want to point out that we are like artwork. We are also made of dripping, cracking materials, but for some reason we sometimes use a therapist or a life coach to point that out to us. We are runny works in process representing the exact moment in time in which we are living in. We go through messy changes all throughout life. And, each one of us is making a mess differently than the next. We experience so much change over a lifetime, that we really can’t even compare ourselves …to former versions of ourselves. We are not Xerox copies of each other, not Xerox copies of anything. We are fantastically one-of-a-kind soaking wet paintings, each smearing differently than the next, but all smearing nonetheless. And, like an unprecedented work of art, our distinction is something to celebrate.

Sadly, we don’t always see the smears because many of us are hiding our messy moments. We are covering up the naturally occurring drips and overworking ourselves to death like a painter can overwork a painting straight to the trash can. Think of the energy we could save if only we believed that less truly is more. Think of the relief we would feel if we saw that the truth is something to celebrate, not the false that hides it.

In my latest body of work, each running droplet of paint represents the natural state of ourselves. This art is to inspire us to embrace the mess. Just as an artist can regretfully overwork a painting, we can overwork and manipulate ourselves until we are no longer sure of what we are made of. An overworked piece of art is a crying shame. What a waste it is to hide the good stuff; a waste of time, waste of materials, and most of all, a waste of talent. Or better put, talent wasted on perfection. We don’t long for perfect art. We don’t save up for and collect massively reproduced and commercialized art, the kind at Bed Bath and Beyond and Target. No, we save up for the real version, the one with human fingerprints; indications of life. I need to see life in my art… and ART in my LIFE… I wanna see that good ole human error coming through. I am not drawn to conveyer belt art. And, I am not drawn to conveyer belt people, either.

I’ll be honest. Behind the scenes of my curated gallery, everything is currently a MESS. But, I’ll be damned if this season of disarray hasn’t unearthed some of the most honest parts of me. This year has dredged up my weirdest self. I almost forgot about that version of me, the one that is willing to go left when everyone and their brother is going right. She got buried under parenthood presumptions and mom guilt and FOMO and “anxiety", and other unnecessary fears that are as useless as pedaling backwards. This big ass mess of a year(…) has broken me down into a million pieces and started a process of sorting through the bullshit. I am unbecaming the things I accidentally became. Like the drips in my paintings that run right through everything I spent hours constructing, messy moments in life have their own way of redirecting. The runs create emphasis and contrast and draw attention to areas that The Artist feels are most important. The most uncomfortable part?… is letting the drips “ruin” those parts we exhausted ourselves manipulating. In the end, the mess gets the job done.

The jig is up, y’all. Life drips. It is messy, and anybody who tries to seem like the exception, is just really good at hiding the truth. The proof is in the mess; don’t trust anyone who doesn’t have one in their life. It’s proof of true living. The drips prove that a most artistic and heart driven life is still in process. Don’t hide your hot mess; celebrate it! It’s the clean and cold state that we wanna avoid. You are a constant work in process until your job here is complete. Caution: wet paint ahead.