Losing my Edge

"Losing My Edge," oil on canvas, 11 x 14

Do you ever feel like you’ve lost your edge?  Your morale is dashed at work; your game is off; writer's block leaves you defeated; a relationship feels rocky; your creative touch has vanished, you name it -your confidence gets kicked to the curb, and you can’t get that “edge” back.

These days, when I’m in my studio, I almost feel desperate to get the paint on the canvas, as if I’m running out of time. There’s so much I long to say with my paintbrush. Maybe it's my age, but I feel I've “lost my edge.” This still life has devoured my confidence, convincing me that my painting days are over.

I am more attracted to painting landscapes because of the abundance of angles, seasonal light, color, distance, the breath of nature, weather change, and its capability to generate such a range of emotions (to name a few). I stand at my easel when painting landscapes, constantly moving in and away from the canvas.  I use larger brushes, and my stroke work is quicker.  Sometimes, it feels more like a dance. It's fun.

Depending on the size of the still life, I tend to sit close to my easel and concentrate to make each stroke count.  It’s slower, structured, methodical, and feels unforgiving.

As I worked on this painting, I was reminded of the importance of edges—when to lose or diminish some and when to enhance others. For instance, softening the lines of the plate on the right side keeps your eye from lingering too long as it passes over the painting to the focal point. It engages your brain to fill in the spaces—the bottle’s edge has almost disappeared, but you know it’s there, adding mystery and perhaps curiosity.

As I paint, I also think about what the painting instructs me. This one spoke to me about my “hard edges” and the need to soften or " lose " them altogether. That harsh-edged tone in my voice when I converse with my husband, the sharp edge of worry or the hard edge of my frown exposes my critical spirit.

In this painting, the pomegranate in the front is a stand-out and the focal point, but without the background pieces, there wouldn’t be complementary green that enhances the color red, adding to the drama.

In my art and writing, I sometimes make myself the focal point—the one that stands out. But I know that all the people in my life (the background) are the ones responsible for the moments I do stand out: my husband, who supports me so wholeheartedly, other fellow artists, and my girlfriends, who not only listen but also speak wisdom, understanding, and encouragement. They soften my edges quite a bit.

God, show me how to finish this still life.  It feels dark and uninteresting. How do I make it come alive? Are there words in the paint I haven’t discovered?  I’m wrestling with my reflections because I find myself zeroing in on the parts of me that need work – my self-centeredness in life or my neediness.  Would you take your paintbrush and “soften” me, God? I know I have “hard edges,” but for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to lose them altogether.  Like this painting, I’m a work in process and am unfinished. And God, could you help me get my “edge” back?

I believe that everyone you encounter today is facing a hard battle within. Those who seem particularly “hard” or “edgy” may be in considerable need of being acknowledged, hearing a kind word, or seeing someone smile at them.