Dear Sonia,
You asked me about my fears and insecurities, and I’ve been reflecting on them. Fear feels like a constant companion in my creative process, especially when I don't know what to paint next. My mind is always swirling with ideas—barcode, histogram, cracks, concrete, blocks, blooming flowers—but even when I have a concept, I fear it won’t translate well onto the canvas. I always seem to hesitate before beginning, as if the weight of the idea is too much to bear alone.
Right now, I’m deep into a series that people seem to like —barcodes transforming into forests or flowers. It’s encouraging to see how much they connect with it. But the fear still lingers. How do I continue this and begin something new at the same time? The cracks I’ve been sketching, for example, aren’t quite ready yet, and I feel the pressure of needing external validation before I move forward. I wonder if they will ever be good enough.
I’ve realized my fear comes in different stages. First, when I’m searching for the next idea, I worry it won’t be as strong or impactful as my last work. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope between inspiration and doubt. Then, during the process of painting, I feel lost. The beauty doesn’t emerge immediately, and I can’t see the final result. The fear grows until I reach the last stages, and only then do I begin to love the work.
And lastly. Deep down, I want my art to stop people in their tracks, to make them look, contemplate, and feel something powerful. This fear of rejection sometimes delays me, keeping me from even starting.
Like Van Gogh, I often feel misunderstood. He lived in a world that wasn’t ready to see the value in his work, and I think I share that fear—that what I’m creating won’t be loved or appreciated. Yet, I take comfort in the fact that he kept going, painting through his doubts, finding solace in his vision even when no one else did. He pushed himself to exaggerate the emotions he felt, to capture that intensity on the canvas. I can learn from him that fear doesn’t have to be an obstacle. It can be a fuel.
Monet, too, dealt with constant dissatisfaction. Even with his celebrated Water Lilies, he struggled to capture what was in his mind, often destroying his own work. Yet, he kept coming back to the same subjects, refining, deepening, and pushing through the imperfections. He reminds me that sometimes, the work isn’t about getting it right the first time—it’s about persistence. His 250 water lilies are proof of that. I think of this when I fear that my barcodes or forests will grow stale. Like Monet, I can keep refining them, knowing that it’s part of the process.
And then there’s Cézanne, with his perfectionism and deep fears of public rejection. He was meticulous, sometimes to a fault, reworking his paintings endlessly. Yet, he also had a drive to astonish the world, to create something that had never been seen before. He once said he would “astonish Paris with an apple,” and that boldness speaks to me. Cézanne’s quest for perfection sometimes led him to destroy his own works, but he never stopped searching for that balance between reality and art.
So, I’ve come to realize that fear is not something to overcome but something to live with. I can’t wait for it to disappear. The masters didn’t. Van Gogh, Monet, Cézanne—they all felt it, yet they painted through it. It’s part of the push and pull that makes us human. And now, when I sit with my sketches, I’m learning to see them as more than just lines on a page. They’re openings—signs that I, too, can push through..
Thank you, Sonia, for helping me see this. Knowing that fear is shared by others—by the greatest artists—makes it easier to accept. And when fear feels overwhelming, maybe I’ll just remind myself of Monet’s 250 water lilies and laugh, knowing that I, too, can keep painting barcodes, and forests, until I’m ready to move forward.
Take care,
Camila
