PROCESSING.

The Space Between

A happy void between now and what’s to come.

I titled a painting “The Space Between” several years ago. The painting title process is a silly one. I can understand why some artists go with “Untitled”. It removes the pressure to think of something clever while also leaving room for interpretation. The “Untitled” title-ers have always felt cool and mysterious to me. A subdued quality that I’ve never been able to possess. I feel the need to tie my pieces up in a summarized title bow. To step back and ask myself what they mean when I’m not in their weeds. There’s usually a personal experience that I sense. Something that it reminds me of. If I’m lucky, the words to describe its memory or meaning pop into my head like a baton passed from beyond. Something outside of myself, but completely of myself. There’s an unforced authenticity from these moments that make me giddy with excitement to sign the back of a piece. Knowing full well that no one will take the same amount of pleasure in its title as I do. We need these little moments of self-resolve and celebration. Even over minuscule things. They’re little sparks that keep us going in a world that would otherwise make us insane! But these moments require patience and stillness. Space that the master procrastinator in me isn’t always willing to give. When that happens, I take a little help from my Mary Oliver books or playlists: thumbing for any words or phrases that resonate. But this method always leaves an icky feeling of being forced and impostered. An act of finding a title vs. receiving one.

I remember the “Space Between” piece so clearly because it was the result of one of those sparked moments of receiving. Or so I thought. A couple days later I caught myself singing “The Space Between” by Dave Matthews. And just like that, the perfect title was a cliche. I caught myself in the middle of a middle-age identity crisis, wondering how I could be so unoriginal and out of touch. There are countless bands and artists from the 90’s to proudly associate oneself with but Dave has not held the same test of time. Their music holds visceral memories of fondness…..but not enough to have a painting title associated with it. This is the exact kind of overthinking that I tangle myself in regularly. I take the tiniest thing that no one else cares about and contort it into a self-proclaimed problem that needs addressed immediately. “Scratch out title and rename painting” instantly jumped to the top of my mental to-do list. This required additional tasks be added to my actual to-do list: ”rename file, update website, email revised title to gallery” All for the sake of a title’s perception.

It’s been seven years since I painted “Open Spaces” (Formally known as “The Space Between”). The painting itself has moved into the cringe category of past pieces. My skin crawls when I see this piece, wondering how I ever thought it was good. Much like most things from our past. But the title; that lives permanently in my head (and heart). Every time I sit down with possible new painting titles, there it is again - ”The Space Between”. Like a little kid tugging on my sweater asking to be heard again and again, no matter how many times I scold it away.

Last week on my morning walk I caught myself in the typical mental frenzy of the day’s checklist, while simultaneously balancing the worry of a hundred unrelated “what -ifs”. Out of nowhere, my mind went blank. Poof, “The Space Between” came back into memory. Not sung by Dave Matthews and not as a past painting title gone wrong. But like a soft message wrapped around a feather gliding to the ground. It landed in front of me with a gentle invitation to be seen. And in that moment, it clicked! The relevancy of the title’s nagging suddenly made sense and the decisions that were plaguing me fell away. Not because it brought a crystal ball, but because it reminded me that the space between is what I’ve been avoiding all along. It’s the mental space between the past and the future that I’ve been failing so miserably at making peace with for so many years.

Our brains are full of files from every moment passed including those we didn’t even live through but witnessed on a movie screen or news headline. My experiences have equipped my mind with hyper-vigilance for scanning possible safety threats. Not the threats one should be alert to: the stranger lurking, the doors left unlocked, the over-trusting and sharing. But the ones that pose threats to my inner-peace. A batting cage of what-ifs that I’m continually dodging and then picking back up to analyze.

“The Space Between” ushered in a flash of memories and patterns when it came to visit me on my walk last week. I felt immense gratitude for the experiences that I’ve had since I first “heard” that title. Experiences that have forced me to be still, followed by practices that have allowed me to feel safe in that stillness. I traced the timelines of little moments built on each other and how they’ve allowed me to put my brain into submission. At least for longer stretches of time. Long enough to hover over myself as an observer of my mind rather than a captive of it. Moments that have allowed me to experience that delicious pause between an inhale and an exhale when time stops and all is perfectly well. A place where loud threats are replaced with quiet wisdom.

Yet still, despite my progress in taming the mental beast, it continues to rear its ugly head time and time again. It tells me to say yes to opportunities that I have zero desire to do because otherwise, another one will never come. It tells me to not need other people because that will make inevitable loss easier. It insists that I bypass the current moment, even if it’s perfect, to remind me that it’s too good to be true. It puts a time limit on the celebration of accomplishments, insisting that they’re not enough. It is a master of diverting me away from what is to what’s next.

I was under the illusion that I had cracked the code on beating my mind at its game of diversions. But when “The Space Between” glided into my mind again last week, it ushered in immediate clarity and I quickly realized that these patterns are still stuck on repeat. In the weeks leading, I was going back and forth on a big decision that had the mask of “opportunity.” An opportunity that was completely unrelated to my art (the path that my heart wants to commit to but that my mind says is safer to just kick a can down). This opportunity that I was struggling to find an answer to appeased the survival patterns that I’ve woven myself into for the last 20 years. My mind wanted to say yes so badly. It felt safe saying yes to more “certainty, safety, money”. It needed a plan B. It needed to keep me safely away from taking risks or trusting the unknown. My brain was on the verge of convincing me I was irresponsible to not take it, when “The Space Between” halted its plans with a message soft and clear:

It’s not irresponsible to follow your heart. It’s OK to leave mental space between now and what’s to come. It’s OK to not know what’s ahead. It’s OK to leave room for pleasant surprises. It’s OK to sense your way through life without constant protection and prediction. It’s OK to stroll instead of sprint. It’s OK to be led by desire instead of dread. You’ll be OK without this opportunity. In fact, it’s really only here to make you question and decide. Take it if you want, but the can will keep kicking, energy will keep wasting and time will keep passing.

I got home from that walk with the self-resolve of a good painting title! I unclenched and sunk into the clarity of knowing that my answer to the new “opportunity” was an absolute NO. I sent my reply and celebrated the new spaciousness that time would provide without this new endeavor.

This is probably not my last brush with an unaligned opportunity. But my experiences with the “The Space Between” have created a new and felt file. One that I hope my brain pulls from the next time instead of the file of over-used worst case scenarios.