Artist in Waiting

The nine sculptures depicting the Enneagram on display
in Greenwood Manor, Linden, Johannesburg

Sometimes my bold soul does something because she knows its the right thing to do. And I (read my ego self) go along with it because at the outset it seems such a good idea. After all, the ego loves showing off, doesn't it, even more than it wants to keep me safe from harm (read humiliation).
     So when I contacted the Enneagram Institute in Johannesburg and requested whether we could display our Enneagram inspired sculptures at the all important upcoming Part 1 training by Russ Hudson and Gayle Scott, it was without hesitation. After all, what better exposure than to have it viewed by people whose life work revolves around the Enneagram?
     As we prepared the plinths after having viewed the exhibition area, however, the familiar inner chatter started. My ego was running scared. What if they feel we have missed the mark? Would I be able to handle criticism or will it plunge me into a dry spell of ego hurting? I felt almost relieved that the sculptures would have to fend for themselves, as we wouldn't be there for the duration of the training.
     But again my soul had other plans, knowing that to miss out on this opportunity to train with people like Russ and Gayle, would be a real shame. And before I knew it, I was enrolled and standing before a group of almost fifty people, introducing myself and mentioning casually that I have brought along sculptures to be viewed in the dining hall area.
     That was when the real hell started! For the following three days I was so nervous I could hardly concentrate. Nobody seemed to take any notice of the sculptures. It was as if they were invisible! It gave me excellent first hand experience of the antics of my ego. Feelings of insignificance, inadequacy, despair, anger, humiliation all played out inside me. Maybe they truly hate it! After all, it really is impossible to capture a type with all its complexity in one single art piece. What was I thinking to bring it here?! These people are the experts and I have no claim to fame.
     I tried to reason with myself. What exactly was my true need? Was it a simple pat on the back, telling me that it is nice work, and to keep it up. Not exactly. Would a sale of one of the sculptures be what I was after? Also not, I kept feeling that the sculptures should be kept as a body of work. Did I need validation of my artisthood? This felt closer to home. What would prove this to me? I wasn't sure. But I felt that I needed some opinions, even if they were negative. Anything would be better than to walk around with this feeling of being totally ignored.
     As I would find out in due course, I was my own worst enemy, my negativity of what I conceived others to be thinking was completely devoid of reality. The course was extremely intensive, with hardly any free time and long sessions of instruction. One could hardly blame people for not being in a browsing mood during meal time. But when I could stand it no longer I decided to be both bold and humble and confess to Russ that I really needed an opinion from him. His face lit up and became soft with compassion: "I would love to do that!" he said.
     Even though he only got round to it on the final evening of the week's training, that was the turning point for me! There was no resistance, no preconceived prejudices. It was all only in my own head. As I relaxed, people started approaching me about the sculptures and I gave regular walkabouts.
     I was amazed at the insights from my fellows who showed me nuances in the sculptures that I most surely cannot claim as of my own doing. I started understanding what it was I so desperately needed. I needed to hear that I managed to be a channel, that I didn't control it and didn't conceive it. It was conceived in me, through me, but not wholly of me. It was not about me.
     I appreciated Russ and Gayle''s attention and positive critique. I felt honoured that they photographed it and that they found the exhibition pamphlet with information impressive. It was more than I could ever have expected.
     But I was in for another big surprise. Mauro, hailing from Italy, honoured me by showing me the ancient movements that are associated with each of the types and that he had learnt as a form of meditation. As he demonstrated the nine types, standing in front of each corresponding sculpture, I was stunned. It was as if each of his sensitive and highly emotive movements were frozen into form in the sculpture in front of him. "This is profound," he said.

And I knew that was what I have been waiting for all week.

Matilda