Seasons of the mind

This lingering winter has acted strangely on me. A few days ago as I was feeling ready for a spring that is yet to come, I grew impatient for other things as well and had an existential artist crisis. I started a painting that was promissing and at a certain point felt frustrated as the damn canvas wasn't quite understanding what I was telling her. I sat and looked at it and could only see what was wrong, a detail that could be worked on, by the way. But no matter what, I started telling myself this was not it, that my efforts were not paying enough, and thought that only a couple of the paintings I did in the last few months were worth something. Worse, I started thinking I'd better go back to my "peintre du dimanche"(sunday painter) status. Yeah, retrospectively now I know why I was telling that to myself: as an amateur I'd be in a comfort zone, I wouldn't have to feel compelled to produce some progress. It would be so much easier. The problem is I want to be good in everything I do. That could be a good definition of an artist's mindset, I guess. My other "problem" is that I cannot afford to be a full-time artist, as I have to work for a living. Doing a job I love, by the way, so yes, I'm a whiner.
So on that evening I covered the damn canvas so as not to see it anymore and decided I'd probably not touch that one again. It sat there for 3 days. Then on coming back home after my ride back from Whatcom county, a beautiful ride it was, I thought "let's have a look at that thing" . I lifted the fabric covering the canvas, stepped back, looked at it, and thought "not so bad". And covered it again. Now since then I realized, and, helped by my wanderings around the county taking landscape pictures, accepted the idea that spring may be long to come. That this was a long, but beautiful winter. I also had several internal monologues while driving, the essence of which being that I didn't have any right to whine over my fate, that I had the life I wanted, and if it took time and work to get somewhere wasn't it after all just the natural order of things?
As usually when I'm in such a negative state of mind, nature came to my rescue. I am fortunate enough to be living in as private and magnificent a setting as can be. So the other night as I was sitting on the deck of the boat at night, listening, amused, to that beaver still working on its tree, tictictictictic-ticiticiticticitic, that fellow made me smile and I got aware again of how industrious those creatures are, and I imagined the relentless patience it required them to build their lodge.
Now I know what was missing in that painting.