It's Pink

Author's Note

The first part of a quite long story...


The Stagnation of Success
Emily Carew stood in her studio high on the cliffs above St. Ives where so many before her had come to paint the stunning Cornish light. Surrounded by the controlled chaos and huge canvases along with the shadows cast by the setting sun she stared at her latest painting. It was another large abstract work in muted shades of blue and grey, the colours of the sky and sea visible from her windows. For many years now Emily had acquired a name in the art world for her mastery of abstraction with terms like ‘groundbreaking’ and ‘emotionally charged’ being bandied about with collectors paying top prices for her work. Her paintings, with their bold geometric patterns and delicately layered textures, were highly sought after by some of the most prestigious galleries. In short she had achieved what so many artists only dream of – success, recognition and financial stability. Yet here she was staring at her latest canvas feeling as though she were staring into a void. She had painted this piece, or numerous versions of it, so many times before. Staring at it she could see the perfect composition, and the flawless execution, but could also see that it was soulless, it had no soul whatever. Standing there she came to know that her brushstrokes had become automatic, that her creativity was stifled by the expectation of gallery owners. She realised that she no longer painted the ideas that moved her, the emotions she felt – she painted what was expected of her. She painted what sold.

Her phone buzzed on the table, yet another email from her agent about the next solo exhibition. What was this, the tenth in as many years? He was talking about a how that was going to be the highlight of her year, even of her career. But there was no sense of excitement. Instead Emily was aware of the nagging doubts tugging at the edges of her mind. If she agreed to this she knew that she would be, once again, showing work that no longer felt like her own, but more like the work of an automaton. She felt the exhaustion of the day settling into her bones. Rubbing her eyes she started to wonder how she had come to this point, wondering where and when the sheer joy of creating had turned into such a crushing burden. There had been a time when Emily had the belief that success would bring her freedom, the time and ability to paint what she wanted, and explore new ideas without fear. Instead success had imprisoned her. Now every painting looked, and felt, like a repetition, no different from the last. It had come to the point that every brushstroke felt like a lie.
‘I can’t keep doing this’ she muttered to herself
Her words hanging heavy in the air bringing with them the thoughts that something had to change radically. The realisation came that she had been ignoring the growing dissatisfaction, the disconnection that was now the definition of all her creative attempts.

Emily walked to her desk looking at the stack of exhibition invitations sitting there waiting to be put in the post, she picked up the top one with the embossed lettering of her name. This showing would mark a decade of her work, a landmark that should be a celebration. So why, standing here, did it feel like the end of something, the end of who she was as an artist. Putting the invitation back on the pile she felt her chest tighten, and realised for the first time in her career that she had no idea of her direction. She was no longer certain of her artistic future. She simply knew that she could not continue what she was doing – something had to change. With these thoughts came the certain knowledge that she needed something new, something different, something real, but wasn’t sure where to begin. Emily looked at a blank canvas propped against the far wall and took a deep breath. She stood there for several moments, the blank space taunting her, teasing her with the endless possibilities. Aware that she was seeking a new way forward, one that would not come from between familiar walls. She knew it was time to step away from the comfort zone of her success, to think outside the box and rediscover the inspiration that she had somehow lost in the process of becoming successful. Now whatever lay awaiting her it was clear that there was a need for change, and that her art, and her life, would probably never be the same.