The canvas mocks me with its emptiness, and I feel the awkward glances from my classmates because it has almost been thirty minutes and I still have not yet started my painting. The project was "simple", sixteen of my classmates had to create a reflective and symbolic self-portrait of ourselves. The challenge is that only three of my class's best paintings are chosen to receive an art scholarship, which is actually an exclusive art class taught by a famous artist. When I pick up my paintbrush, I feel a tightening inside my throat and a cold rush that stiffens my movements. The focus of my class is intimidating as their working paintbrushes echoes the room and juices of their colorful creative energy are successfully becoming masterpieces. Even as I remind myself of the importance of this opportunity, and about all the people I wish to impress, it does not inspire me much confidence. My canvas remains a blank white sheet. What is wrong with me?
I imagine looking at my true self and she glowers at me with her clouded eyes. Her eyebrows furrow, signaling for me to leave her in solitude. This person is the one I hide behind my facade. She is not shy, but defensive, yet also sensitive because she is afraid of looking worthless or amateur amongst her peers. This is my challenge, to captivate my audience by artistically interpreting my strength, when obviously on the inside its the complete opposite. I am lost in my pessimism which comforts me more because I always feel like its the truth, or some sort of salvation to remind myself to change.The fear of rejection is now interfering with my creative thinking, and as I look at the clock I see it mocking me too.
Breathe in and out Roena, you can do this. I remember my school's art teacher's advice: "Don't think, just do!" and try to forget about the pressure that is being placed so my painting may seem more natural. However as I compare myself to my classmates who are easily battling themselves, I sit poker-faced trying to perfect myself because I know that I don't have a chance. I can make my painting look beautifully imperfect, and also risk looking like a mess. I try to focus again as I shut the world and motivate myself with the music in my iPod. The bass strums at the same time as my heart, and the guitar rush strikes me with energy. My hand is now twitching to move as I pick up my brushes and paints.
My brain categorizes the possible symbols that could represent me, and I tackle those ideas and try to transform them into a piece of art. I am now inspired to do a dark motif with bright details to represent the potential within me. At the same time I also try not to think of the competition, before I go into another melancholic episode. The paintbrushes are now dancing unto the canvas to my music and I am beginning to see the talent I grew within years.
Unfortunately, I am now out of time as I hurriedly create details and correct mishaps. Three figures are now standing by the doorway, and they carry a professional mystique despite their unique appearance and sense of style, and as they scan the classroom they remind each of us that we are merely students. My anxiety returns because these people were the admission committee. In a random order they observe and critique each student's work, and praise them for their creativity or criticize their vague organization. Finally it was my turn, and my reply was the "mediocre nod", and they immediately went on to the next painting. I knew it, I didn't really have a chance. One member of the committee, whose name I forgot, looks at me disappointingly and tells me that my painting could reflect a lot more about myself, and my art teacher gives me the same look too.
Despite not getting the scholarship, I feel lighthearted because as I look at my painting I think it motivates me to step away from my shadow, accept my mistakes, to smile and to breathe. I cannot reflect myself based on the expectations of the people I want to impress. Sometimes, I just have to be myself, and realize the greatness within me. However as my pessimism continues to challenge me, I begin to see the bright side within it. I know I can change because this time I want to.
