I release the work, feeling the strange discomfort of knowing it is ready to leave my hands while another part of me keeps searching for a reason to hold it a little bit longer,
I release the work, imagining it meeting the world without the history of every choice that brought it into being, being created into something others would use,
I release the work, resisting the hope that others will understand its worth simply because they knew how much it cost me to make, imagining al the time and effort in the making,
I release the work, am I preparing it to meet its audience, or preparing myself for the possibility that it may not be received as I hoped for,
I release the work, afraid of what may happen once I release it into the world and it no longer belongs only to me alone…
I allowed the work to speak for itself, even when I recall every abandoned possibility and every alternative that I couldn’t bring to its final form,
I allowed the work to speak for itself, without explaining every detail that mattered to me but may remain invisible to someone else,
I allowed the work to speak for itself, remembering that others will encounter what it became, not the private world of intentions and almost-decisions behind it,
I allowed the work to speak for itself, can I stop defending what it might have been and allow others to meet what it actually is from their own experience,
I allowed the work to speak for itself, accepting the gap between my intended outcome, my creation, and what another person might perceive…
I receive the response, aware that one person’s doubt can unsettle a choice I trusted, while another’s recognition can reveal something I had forgotten was there,
I receive the response, resisting the urge to repeat what earns praise or abandon what criticism has not yet helped me understand,
I receive the response, noticing how easily I begin creating for an imagined audience whose approval I know I can never always guarantee,
I receive the response, can I remain open to what others teach me without letting them decide what I am allowed to make on my next chapter,
I receive the response and am willing to learn from others without losing the part of me that knows why I started in the first place…
I trust what remains, accepting that the work need not be welcomed by everyone to carry something true from me into the world of passions,
I trust what remains, knowing that criticism may reveal a weakness worth examining or simply a difference in what another person truly values,
I trust what remains, allowing myself to revise what needs changing and keep what still feels true after the discomfort and pain has passed,
I trust what remains, can I let the work be imperfectly received without mistaking that moment for proof that I should have made something else despite of the noise,
I trust what remains, finishing what I can stand behind, releasing what I have honestly made, and leaving enough of myself untouched to begin with another endeavor all over again…
Watchwords:
The distance between intention and creation
The work beyond my private attention
Praise can tempt me to repeat
Let a response reach without deciding
Enough of myself to begin again
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream: