Mood: Quietly Catastrophising | Post Type: Behind the Scenes | Weeks Until Show: 5

The Final Countdown

With five weeks to go until my solo exhibition, I'm quite surprised it's suddenly so close. At the same time, the realisation has hit that there is still so much to do.

I'm trying hard to keep it all in perspective because the last few weeks have been tough. Tough in the sense that my body has simply had enough of living in permanent fight-or-flight mode. The heart palpitations and the insomnia alone have demonstrated why sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. Then came the realisation that my immune system had kicked into overdrive, and something I'd managed to keep dormant for years sadly isn't dormant anymore.

That was the red flag.

The funny thing is, the exhibition itself isn't actually what tipped me over the edge. Weeks ago, I decided it would be what it would be, and I genuinely made peace with that. The bigger pressure has come from other parts of life quietly piling on until my body eventually said, "Enough."

Being Kinder to Myself

So I've been trying something different. For as long as I can remember, lists have been my way of coping. They helped me make sure I didn't forget anything and kept me focused on whatever job was in front of me. But somewhere along the line, I'd stopped being in control of the lists.

The lists had become my master. And that master is incredibly judgemental if I don't achieve everything I've written down. So, for the last two weeks, there hasn't been a single list. Instead, I'm experimenting with Post-it notes. The jobs are still there, but they're tucked away out of sight. I grab three or four each morning and that's what I'm working on. Tonight I had to put one back because I didn't get to it.

Normally that would have bothered me. This time, I've reminded myself that recovery is also productive.

A Quiet Moment at the Flat Lap

This evening I was sat at the flat lap—my converted potter's wheel that I use for sanding, grinding and polishing glass. It's one of the few jobs where I can actually listen to whatever music I like because I'm not concentrating on counting passes or strokes like I do when making bails, finishing pendants and so many of the other repetitive jobs.
And it was there that it suddenly dawned on me. I'm building up to this massive event. Well... massive to me.
And then I realised just how many worst-case scenarios I'd created in my own head.

The Spiral

Some of them are already happening.

Our road, literally outside the house, is closed. What would normally be a fifteen-minute journey to the gallery is now an hour and ten minutes. That's going to need some careful planning when it comes to setting up. There'll certainly be no popping home because I've forgotten something. Although, saying that, we may yet see the lists making a comeback!

Then the catastrophising really begins. What if I've got the dates wrong? What if the gallery has somehow double-booked? I've already put it out into the world. I had a small snippet in the summer edition of Dartmoor Magazine—with the exhibition title and details. A full-page feature in a local magazine that lands on 16,000 doormats, the Contemporary Glass Society has shared the exhibition, and Devon Artist Network will be doing so shortly.

Then my mind moves on.

What if the car is fully loaded and someone rear-ends me?
What if I get a flat tyre?
What if pieces break in transport?
What if everything is beautifully hung, and one of my glass pieces decides to part company with the framed glass and lands on the floor?
What if nobody comes to the preview evening?

Although that's slightly irrational because it's invitation only with RSVPs, so by then I'll know exactly who's coming.

The Things Nobody Tells You

Then there's the catering. Seriously... this is so far outside my comfort zone. Do I cater for everyone? Do I make sure it's all gluten free so I know I can safely eat it? Being coeliac means a single crumb can knock me out for forty-eight hours, so I know I'll become ultra-paranoid about everything I eat during the run-up and throughout the exhibition.

Then there are the finances. What if I don't sell anything? I know that wasn't the point. This exhibition was always about challenging myself to work bigger and push myself further. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't invested a lot into making it happen. I'm still four pieces short of where I want to be. Not all the frames have even been ordered yet. I've sunk a considerable amount of money into this exhibition, but I still haven't totalled it all up.

I'm too scared to. That calculation can wait until afterwards, i feel a wrap up blog coming!

And then…

Then my brain changes direction completely. What if people actually buy the original glass? How on earth do I package and ship it safely? I also promised myself everything would be on my website before the exhibition opens.

Except...

I'm still struggling to photograph the larger framed pieces properly. Without decent photographs, I can't create the individual pages. Then comes the one that probably sits deepest. What if people don't like the larger work? What if they think the bigger pieces aren't as good as my pendants?

Perspective

I think I need to stop there. Because isn't it remarkable how quickly the mind can spiral into complete doomsday thinking? Perspective is needed. This isn't life or death. This is simply a creative person standing on the edge of something they've never done before. Of course there are nerves, of course I have doubts. If anything, I'd be worried if there weren't.

What I don't want is to become so stressed, so absorbed in making everything perfect, that I completely forget to enjoy what I've already achieved. Five weeks from now, whatever happens, I'll have held my first solo exhibition.

People might buy work. People might not. Things might break. They probably won't.

Something unexpected will almost certainly happen because curve balls are always around the corner. And I've only listed the exhibition catastrophes—seriously, I could write a thesis on all the outside ones!!!

Even so, none of those things can take away the fact that I was brave enough to say yes to this challenge in the first place. More importantly, I've achieved what I set out to do: my work has become wall art. Yes, it still needs to keep increasing in size, but getting to this point is a true testament to perseverance.

Once again, this blog has been a cathartic process. It's helped calm my mind and reminded me that not every thought deserves centre stage. So, onwards and upwards. Tomorrow is another day, another step closer, and I think it's time to grab another three Post-it notes and see what tomorrow has in store.

This is Episode 27 in my ‘Solo Show Diary’ series — a behind-the-scenes look at how my work develops. You can find my earlier posts here.

Five Weeks, Fifty Worries - What If...? Apparently, everything!