INSECURITY

Every loss of confidence is ultimately a step towards death. A step towards indecision. A step towards incapacitating, bedridden reflection. I think this as I stare at my newest painting, The Dot, which is a painting of a small black dot in the center of a rectangular piece of blue paper. I framed it and hung it on my wall and now I'm standing in front of it, staring at it, trying desperately to remember the instructions that go with the painting. There are instructions for looking at this painting but they are only written somewhere else, somewhere I can't find right now, so I'm half-making them up even though they were very specific, specifically designed to bring to light something cold and dark, something that we never think about. Something that is deep within us. A secret. It actually works. (I think.) But I can't find the damn instructions so I'm just staring at this damn dot. I've lost all confidence in this work and all my work as I stare at this dot, I think, I have no confidence in anything anymore. Not only have I lost all confidence but now I'm even telling myself that I've lost all confidence, and this can't be a good sign. It's one thing to just lose all your confidence; it's another to tell yourself that you're nothing, that you're finished, done, dead. In the first case at least you still have your pathetic self; in the second case you've lost even your pathetic self and created this commentator second-self, and this second self is standing there behind your first self laughing at the first's own inability and insecurity. But really you're performing both parts like a bad stage play. I think this while staring at the dot. I start to wonder what people think about while looking at paintings. Do they interpret them? Where are my instructions for this damn dot, I think to myself, these damn instructions need to be posted with the painting—I really don't understand why I didn't post them right up here next to the painting. I've lost my confidence, and while I was going to try to get some work done today now I realize that it's impossible, that I've lost all my confidence and that I'm slipping towards death, towards total incapacitation, which is really the same thing as death. The Dot, in fact, is precisely about this, I think, clicking my tongue and letting my eyes wander from the dot (but then quickly forcing them back to the dot in the center of the blue rectangle). The Dot was supposed to be about deciding to stare at the dot, telling yourself to stare at the dot, and thereby becoming aware that you are telling yourself to stare at the dot. I believe that this was what it was about. I've decided to stare at the dot. Now, who is staring at the dot? I am. There's the blue rectangle and there's the black dot in the middle. I'm staring at the dot. But now that I'm staring at the dot and now that I'm aware that I'm staring at the dot, who is giving the command to stare at the dot? I'm staring at the dot but somehow this second-self still seems to be there, commanding me to stare at the dot, but really I'm this second-self too, commanding myself to stare at the dot. The second self isn't laughing anymore. My eyes are darting and I'm being distracted but something is being dredged up from inside me. The dot is misshapen, I think, I didn't draw it very well with my sharpie, I think—but instantly I stop this line of thinking as I can't let myself be distracted by the aesthetic aspects of the work. The work is more important for it's phenomenological import. So I'm staring at this dot, and I've split myself into at least two people: he who commands and he who obeys. Yes! This is The Dot, I think. This is what I was supposed to realize, I think. My second-self is really myself, as is my first self, but this duality is deeply rooted and my two selves are inseparable. Any loss of confidence, I now think, would have to take into account this indivisible duality. Or at least think it through, and I will think it through, right now. Insecurity, indecision, and even bedridden reflection need to be reminded of my ability to act through my meditation on The Dot. Even if The Dot is not a major action (it is in fact a simple action), and even if it's an arbitrary action, we can see that The Dot can remind us of our ability to do in the face of insecurity, incapacitation, and bedridden reflection. I stare because I believe in my ability to do at all (because of my indivisible duality, which commands and obeys—but this command/obey relationship is really only metaphoric, we have to remind ourselves), I think, and my act proves my ability. The Dot is a savior. I must remind my loss of confidence that I can still act, that even though I feel my loss of confidence deeply, that I can still act, that even though I've basically become metaphorically bedridden (temporarily) due to my inflamed bowel, that I can still act. I think all this while staring at The Dot. I wonder where those instructions went. They must be somewhere. But then I wonder if I need them at all, or if I just needed to be reminded to listen to The Dot. What do people think when they look at paintings, I think again. Would anyone else have acted upon this painting in this way without a signpost pointing him or her in the right direction? Those instructions must be somewhere. I'll have to find them. I need to find them because I need to be reminded to actually listen, to be receptive. And I will find them. And I'll share them without anyone who needs to be reminded.