She sat there on her stool, waiting. She was semi-aware that her turn was coming up and that she should pay better attention. Maybe she should even participate in the discussions. After all, it was the respectful thing to do. But her mind kept wandering towards the recent events that still haunted her. She had thought that she had forgotten about it. She had hoped that perhaps she had even gotten over the whole disaster. However, her current setting seemed all too familiar, and it would not let her forget. It brought all the fears and self-doubt to the forefront again.

Her eyes stared at her classmates’ work, but she had stopped seeing them fifteen minutes ago. Voices flooded the room as they spoke of the merits of the artwork that was displayed around them, but she couldn’t hear them anymore. While she had started off listening to them talk about subject matter, themes, and meanings, the words had slowly faded to a hum as she thought about the last time she was in this position.

She recalled being excited when she first saw the gentleman that one night, but she had decided to stay towards the back and remain unnoticed, not wanting to influence his reaction to what she had done. She thought he was just an observer, a fan or maybe even a patron. Turned out, he was a critic. His pointed words stabbed at her stomach, making it literally ache as she felt a plethora of negative emotions: hurt, anger, fear and embarrassment. Embarrassment was what caused her to avoid him and all other visitors for the rest of the evening. She’s been a women of few words ever since.

Suddenly, she felt her arm being shoved and there were fingers snapping and waving in front of her face. She broke from her trance. Talk about embarrassment, she had completely spaced-out and now it was her turn to be critiqued. With a voice soft and weary, she identified each watercolor based on the subject that was depicted: “A Vase with Flowers” (not to be confused with her other vase and flowers painting), “Three Apples” and a “Self-Portrait”. Gosh, she thought to herself, there was no reason to wake me up for this. It’s pretty obvious what my paintings are; they probably could have carried on without me. Her brow furrowed as she briefly contemplated what that could possibly imply. She wasn’t too sure that it was a good thing. Regardless, she was beginning to feel the knots tightening in her stomach again, causing that numb pain from the other night to return. Slowly her mind started to meander between the past events and her critique that was going on in front of her. She closed her eyes, attempting to force her attention to the present, but she knew she was failing miserably.

What did he mean courage and honesty? It’s the question she has been asking herself ever since her last showing.

Her ears picked up on some of the comments made by her classmates. Good. My work looks realistic. They know what they are talking about, right? I mean, I shouldn’t need any more than that. Yet she wasn’t quite feeling vindicated. She tried to build her self-confidence off of her classmates’ statements, but the past just kept preventing it from fully developing.

Did he even know what he was talking about? Does he paint? Still, questioning the gentleman’s credibility did nothing to quell her uneasiness.

I’m glad they appreciate the details. It took me a lot of time to get that right. And the compliments from her peers seemed to keep coming. Great, they understand the difficulty of water color.

Does he know how difficult watercolors can be? She didn’t even take a moment to ponder an answer to that question, because for some reason it didn’t matter. Instead she tried to push it all out of her mind. Forget what he said. He’s not worth it. But her own words seemed hollow and unconvincing.

Although she was having a hard time focusing, she could sense that her critique was starting to wrap up. She usually welcomed the end of her critique, as the uncomfortable focus would then move on to someone else. But today, she was unsettled. Wait a second? What about subject matter? They only talked about how well I managed to render an object. Don’t they have anything else to say?

She wasn’t sure if she was just getting exhausted and cranky or if it was her irritation with what the gentleman had said in the past that was influencing her reaction to her fellow students’ comments. Why do his words still sting? Why do they have such an effect on me? None the less, she noticed a common thread between the past and the present and the two moments were starting to merge into one.

Then she thought she heard someone saying something about her “Vase with Flowers” being pretty. Oh come on! There’s got to be more to my art than that! What about form and themes? All the other students had critiques that talked about meaning? Suddenly, simple validation wasn’t enough.

Maybe he did know what he was talking about. Maybe he was on to something. Now that she had a taste of something that was a little hard to swallow, she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to spit it out. She wanted to chew on it a little more.

Are they moving on to the next person? Already? But they haven’t offered me one bit of advice. Nothing they said has helped me at all. Why are they coddling me?

“Do I lack courage and honesty?”

Those last words were no longer stuck within the confines of her own mind. She wasn’t really surprised by her sudden vocalization. She had longed to ask that question for a long time, but didn’t know who to ask. And so now, she was waiting again. She was waiting for a response, but nothing came. What did come was a sinking feeling that maybe she had actually fallen asleep in the middle of class and that everyone had left and gone home while she remained alone, in the center of an empty studio.

She slowly opened her eyes. She was not alone. In fact, there were twelve art students and a professor there, each with their confused eyes laid upon her. Unwavering, she asked again, “Do I lack courage and honesty?” The words came out slow and deliberate, because she wanted to stress how important this was to her. She made eye-contact with each individual as her gaze took a turn about the room. She was determined to get an answer.

And answers she got. Once her classmates adjusted to what had happened, her critique shifted and she went from being a passive by-stander to an active participant. She asked questions and they gave her more than just answers. They gave her feedback and constructive criticism. They did more than talk, they discussed. They discussed what she was trying to accomplish in her work and they exchanged ideas about how she could achieve her objectives.

She felt herself becoming braver as she learned that the attention was not something to fear, that it could, indeed, be helpful. With that knowledge, she continued to face her fears and became more and more honest about what she did and didn’t like in her own work. Instead of ignoring the problems and trying to convince herself that she could handle them on her own, she addressed them with her peers.

She learned a lot in those next few minutes. She discovered that she was still making that old familiar mistake that she had made in the past. She was still falling back on old habits. Perhaps she hadn’t grown and developed her skills as much as she had thought she had. But while she was making those mistakes again, she learned that it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about. Her mistakes were something to build off of. They were hers, and she needed to take ownership of them. They weren’t something that should be pushed away and forgotten forever.

Then she turned to her self-portrait. When she began to feel that nervous sensation returning, she pressed on. “I don’t know” she hesitated. “It’s been giving me problems. It looks washed out and I just can’t seem to get it right no matter what I try”. As she says this, she begins to wonder why all of a sudden this feels more personal. “I’m starting to think it’s a lost cause.” Her own words startle her, because no matter how brave you are, letting go of something can still be hard.

“Have you considered the negative space?” One student spoke up. “Sometimes what isn’t there is just as important as what is.”

She looked right at him, completely still, except for the occasional blink of her eyes. His words were resonating within her and she was letting them sink in. She knew what he was saying was important.

Misinterpreting her blank stare for confusion he continued. “I’m sorry, it just seems that you’re focusing so much on what is physically there, that you’re completely neglecting what isn’t, thereby giving it a lack of depth. If you were to think more about the negative space and work with that, you might get more of the result you’re looking for.” He was starting to look bewildered and she could tell that he was beginning to regret what he had said. The look on his face implying that she was fragile and he needed to prevent her from getting hurt by his words.

“No, I understand” she assured him. “I completely understand.” And a calm and sturdy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She understood that she needed to take a completely new approach and she was finally prepared to do so.