I recently experienced what I now recognise as a critical incident while walking along the shoreline at Ferring. I had gone for fish and chips on a spring evening, a moment of happiness with my family after a long week at work. I wasn’t looking for anything or intending to create; I brought along some materials on the off chance the moment inspired me.
The shoreline is an apt place to experience a critical incident, as it is a perfect example of a liminal space – a threshold between land and sea, where one state meets another. It is a place of constant transition, shaped by tides, weather, and time. Like me, it is neither fully here nor there. I can’t help but wonder if that’s why I’m so often drawn to the shoreline, because it reflects my own inner landscape of liminality and transition.
As I stared out at the sun setting over the gentle waves, the light struck me. Normally, I would capture that moment of inspiration by jotting down ideas or lines of poetry in the notes section of my phone. But in the spirit of risk-taking, I decided instead to take out my camera and capture the scene visually. I walked toward the retreating tide with an idea forming: I wanted to lay the golden string, a motif in my work, into the rivulets running out to sea. I could see it unfolding in my mind; it was beautiful. The image seemed to perfectly encapsulate the feeling in my heart. I could hear Blake in my head urging me to follow the golden string. And then, suddenly, the fear came: fear of failure, fear of people watching, wondering what I was doing. What if it didn’t work? What if I looked silly?
But I decided to sit with those feelings – feelings of imposter syndrome that have historically stopped me from growing artistically and personally and do it anyway. I was suddenly 17 again, hearing the family GP telling me, “What’s the worst that can happen? Face the fear and do it anyway,” in response to the anxiety that once held me back. But now, I’m 40. I pulled the golden string from my pocket, lay it in the rivulet, and it caught the light and the current just as I had imagined. It was beautiful. The sheer joy of that moment overwhelmed me. I had captured the spirit of that place, in that exact moment.
My confidence grew, and I whiled away an hour or so playing, for that is what it became, in the flow, quite literally. When I finally looked up, I realised I had wandered far. I was miles away, both physically and metaphorically. I am miles further along in my journey toward discovering my artist self.
I’m reminded of Jung’s belief that discovering the artist self is not just about developing technical skill or making something, it’s about the process. It is about confronting the shadow and giving form to inner truths that might otherwise remain hidden or prevent me. In this sense, expressing myself creatively became a profound experience (a critical incident) that not only shapes and reflects who I am, but who I am becoming.
Maybe I am becoming an artist.
