/2012.

(Gemini Twins, Scott Listfield)

The apocalypse has come and gone, but the memories will last forever.

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This year, a brightly colored boy in checkered pajamas crouching 70 feet tall appeared outside my office window. Things are changing around here. The disheartening chatter of what Boston Arts isn’t has quieted. The creatives, with institutional backing or not have been popping their heads out of mole hills with exciting and innovative initiatives that are catching the attention of the world. And not because we are a few steps closer to being like XYZ city, but because we are showing our own unique qualities about what makes us special.

While 2011 was a year focused on tangible achievements for FLUX., it’s really the intangibles of 2012 that make me proud. After years of hard work, my elevator pitch of who I am/what I do/what is FLUX. has shortened or vanished from most of my interactions. And because of that, unexpected opportunities began to arise and I found myself participating in meaningful discussions about ways to strengthen the Arts in our city.

I will admit, 2012 was the first time things got a bit hairy juggling my two worlds. As my 9-5 became more demanding, I wondered how I would be able to do it all. Pangs of insecurity crept in – How do I let people know I’m still here even though I’m not doing 5 posts per week? Is my work on FLUX. shifting towards ‘business’ or is it still my creative outlet? Should I be curating more shows? Should I focus on consulting more? Where do I fit into the bigger picture? How can I be everywhere at once? Am I doing enough?

While I will always be my harshest critic, which is what drives me to constantly push myself, I quickly realized I had to rein in these nagging thoughts and needless worries for my own sanity. Recentering and focusing on the simple things that made me happy, the reasons why I enjoy working on this site so much in the first place enabled me to forge ahead without all the cerebral muck. Going with the flow. Bending like the bamboo. And all that good stuff.

FLUX. has become more than a website, and 2012 really drove this point home. While I may not be producing a flurry of posts, I have been spending my days painting, reading, and wandering through galleries. Activities that reignite my soul and provide me with the stream of inspiration that has always been the backbone of the content I share with you. I have returned to a place where I’m learning again; digging into the minutiae and having liner note talks about best practices in crating and shipping art, and the ins and outs of gallery lighting. All the behind-the-scenes details and intricate fine tuning that textbooks and articles fail to mention, but are wildly interesting to me. So while these things don’t necessarily make for the best conversational gems at a cocktail party, I’ve been learning a great deal about how this whole thing works from the inside out. It’s been a huge year for growth.

And much of this growth can be attributed to the people who were willing to give me the time of day. There is such a strong mentorship network in the Boston Arts Community if you happen to turn over the right rocks(and if you turn over the wrong ones, run)–people who will meet you for lunch/coffee/beer, share their experiences, or give you feedback; and over time those mentors become invaluable friends. The best thing Boston Arts can do to continue moving in the right direction is to be those mentor-type figures for each other; supporting the efforts of those who work hard, endlessly hustle, and have a good heart.

And as for my year ahead? With this newly adopted(and still admittedly a work in progress) “go with the flow” mentality, I plan on attempting just that. I’d like to think there will be a show or two, I’d like to make more art, I’d like to sell more art, I’d like to talk to more people, and bite off more than I can chew. I’d like to see all of my bubbling projects come to fruition, but if they don’t, that’s OK.

I mean, last year I promised myself I would make it through 30,000 Years of Art and I gave up somewhere off the coast of 400 B.C. Surprisingly, my world didn’t come crashing down in light of my shortcomings.

Just know, I’ll be here. Online. Offline. Watching you sleep. 25 hours a day.

You’re the best. And I’ll see you in a minute.

 

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