Art is definitely a big "go for it" practice. It's a practice of constantly taking a blank page, or canvas, or stone, or space, or whatever you are working with and turn it into something that is not longer blank, or making it different than it once was. It is the practice of putting that thing that that didn't exist before into a space for people to see that it now exists. It is the practice of gestation and labor and birth; and that is not an easy or a small task.
I think that people often imagine that artists just play in their studios all day. That they dance around lightly brushing their canvas with paint as they go. That their days are pure ecstasy and at the end, as if by magic, a piece of art is created.
But making art is work. It is setting down to work when you want to do something else. It is working through the hard spots. It is making mistakes and fixing them. It is knowing when to keep pushing something and when to stop. It is setting down to the same thing over and over and over, and still bringing your whole self to it. There are some days that I've looked at the same image for so long I can't really "see" it anymore.
Don't get me wrong, sometimes painting is one of the most peaceful, joyful, meditative activities; but some days it's like trying to coax a stray dog out from under a porch with a soggy hamburger. Some days I think, "what in the world did I get myself into with this piece, it is never going to be done." But then it is done, and I get to step back and realize that I made that thing, and that every brush stroke was worth it and that there is now something beautiful where there was once something blank, and that in the making I am changed too.
But then it is done, and I get to step back and realize that I made that thing, and that every brush stroke was worth it and that there is now something beautiful where there was once something blank, and that in the making I am changed too.