Like sand falling through an hourglass

The nature of time is that it passes most quickly when we want it to linger.  Since getting back from  Telluride, I feel like I've been in a whirlwind of to-do lists and "last chance to"s as my Dubuque debut (July 16), CD release date (July 26), and move west (July 31) approach.  It was this anxiety that almost caused me to bail on working at the bluegrass festival to continue forging ahead with the logistics of everything.  Fortunately, I didn't miss out on this opportunity.  Working at the festival solidified my faith in wanting to be immersed in the music industry despite the fears that arise within that pursuit.  As Amanda Palmer expresses so honestly in her book and Ted Talk, beneath the love of music - writing it, performing it, sharing it - is an undercurrent of fear, or, as she describes it, the "Fraud Police" and being a "real" artist:

"People working in the arts engage in street combat with The Fraud Police on a daily basis, because much of our work is new and not readily or conventionally categorized. When you’re an artist, nobody ever tells you or hits you with the magic wand of legitimacy. You have to hit your own head with your own handmade wand. And you feel stupid doing it. There’s no “correct path” to becoming a real artist. You might think you’ll gain legitimacy by going to university, getting published, getting signed to a record label. But it’s all bullshit, and it’s all in your head. You’re an artist when you say you are. And you’re a good artist when you make somebody else experience or feel something deep or unexpected."
                                                                                                                                                   ~Amanda Palmer

At Telluride, I mused to myself - I wonder if Chris Thile and Bela Fleck have their own Fraud Police? The thing is: it didn't matter.  They played at the same caliber I expected from watching their documentaries and listening to their albums, and they made me feel something.  Even more, the informal nature of the Punch Brothers' "happy hour" set allowed the boys to be honest about not being up for certain requests.  I thought, My god, they're real.  That was empowering.

I still have a bit of recording to do (one track being a song with my loop pedal that I haven't actually performed flawlessly, even in my apartment), but instead of having a debilitating fear of what's left, I'm trying to approach it for what it is: I am an artist, I am human, and this is my art.