I've experienced a significant journey of letting go in the past two years.
The exhibit I worked on for two months and created ten pieces of artwork yielded no sales despite my initial high expectations. The Meadow, my membership space, became another poignant chapter—a project on which I poured intense, loving, and prolific effort over two years. I embarked on creating the membership space before becoming a mother, continued during pregnancy and my son's early months, and invested considerable resources, including money, time, effort, and sleepless nights. However, I ultimately canceled it, ending its run in less than six months.
Our relocation to Portland stands out as one of the most unsettling and nerve-wracking experiences, challenging my nervous system in profound ways. I had envisioned Portland as our home, where we would find our community and put down roots, but the reality turned out to be quite the opposite.
These are just a few examples of personal, creative, and professional disappointments in the last two years. I initially considered using the term "failures," but something about this word didn't resonate. I've learned to lean into my feelings to better understand myself, things, and life more profoundly, and the word failure doesn't feel right.
The exhibit that didn't sell any of my pieces initially left me a bit disappointed, but I moved on quickly. The Meadow was a heartbreak of another kind, but one I got over pretty swiftly, too. Being an artist mother is a fully lived, embodied experience, bringing all of me into the present. It no longer allows the extra long days of journaling and overanalyzing. While there was a necessary time and space for those experiences in the past, this season is all about swift integration. Partly because life demands that I tend to my son 24/7; I'm energetically unable to dissect all my experiences. Partially because I don't need to anymore.
There's a letting go that doesn't require us to actively let go; it just happens on its own, and that's what I'm experiencing right now. Considering the lived experience of being human, and the many cycles of life, death, and rebirth, the art of surrender becomes just another of the arts. It gets easier and more fulfilling with practice.
Letting go is an internal process, a choice in which we will no longer ruminate on things and instead focus on what we can change. Letting go is also acceptance. And I've learned that my grief, disappointments, sadness, and heartaches are also practiced. It's the acceptance of ourselves that carries us forward, that inspires, that opens doors. And that's why failure doesn't feel a word fitting for me.
We reside in a culture that operates on a pass-or-fail mentality. Our educational systems are structured around tests that instill fear and trauma in our little bodies. From a tender age, we're conditioned to believe that our worth is determined by our ability to perform for grades. This early indoctrination sets the stage for adulthood, where we find ourselves navigating mindless jobs, climbing ladders, and constantly competing to validate our existence. Seeking higher positions becomes a pursuit to make money for businesses that often overlook the true value of life.
We're taught that we are failures if we're not successful by capitalistic culture's standards. If our art doesn't sell, we're seen as failures. We're failures if we don't learn conventionally or lack university degrees. We're failures if we don't meet societal expectations of relationship milestones. And the list goes on.
Our duty as sacred human beings is to cancel all the unkind, manipulative, dominant narratives drummed into our bodies. The me from a few years ago would have blamed herself for not selling the art, feeling shame, and failing to maintain an image of a successful artist by capitalistic standards. She would have tirelessly sought her mistakes, trying to rationalize the perceived failure and questioning what could have been done differently. She'd feel anxious—deeming herself a failure in the eyes of others. She’d immediately get back to work to make up for her defeat. Not selling out the exhibit quickly, canceling the hyped-up membership, and not finding the hoped-for community would make her think, just as the soul-sucking system she lives in would want her to ask: what is wrong with you?
Dominant power structures manipulate us to redirect blame and self-doubt inward, deflecting scrutiny from the inherent flaws within the systems themselves.
All systems of oppression are tangled up together, and at the core of it all is white supremacy and capitalism. Capitalism sets us up for failure, pushing us to compete, work excessively, and stretch ourselves beyond reasonable and healthy limits. It demands that we prove our worth through hard work, aiming to be a high-value commodity for others to exploit. Our connections devolve into transactional exchanges, our well-being deteriorates under the strain of relentless work, and even in our efforts to heal, capitalism continues to utilize our recovery for profit.
As we struggle to prove ourselves and live in a state of survival, capitalism, fueled by our cosmic energy and servitude, continues its assault of life on Earth, annihilating the very essence of our planet.
When we fail, the hunger for more intensifies. Capitalism's essence is rooted in accumulation, where a person who never has enough is driven to continually seek more and more. It becomes a cyclical, relentless yearning. This desire isn't limited to just material possessions. The radical disparity between the idealized image presented by capitalism and the actual satisfaction it delivers is virtually non-existent. Capitalism is a disease—a construct designed to obstruct us from living a fulfilling life and thriving on this abundant Earth alongside all beings.
Instead of everything that didn't go as planned, I've decided to move onwards and acknowledge my feelings. I understood that all my disappointments stemmed from expectations. I took the time to grieve but also the time to celebrate the work and effort I put into it all, even if it didn't show external results. I returned to my practice of drawing, writing, and living. I began tending to everything and everyone with even more profound love and refused to let capitalism divert or dismantle my focus again. But not without feeling exhausted and under-resourced at first.
When we accept and love ourselves for who we are, life can never be a failure; only practice. Only a process through which we see ourselves and life more clearly.
With love,
Vanja
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As an artist who is currently fighting the feelings of shame and failure for not meeting capitalism’s ideal image for a successful creative- I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you putting words to this.
Deeply grateful for your words over these (at least) 6 years I have been reading them, as well as enjoying the sight of your art.