The Painting That Never Was

I started this painting almost three months ago. It was supposed to be my biggest work yet, a stunning landscape that would showcase all the skills I've been honing over the years. But here it is, sitting on an easel in a corner of my studio, untouched and unfinished for weeks. At first, everything was going well. I mixed vibrant colors and carefully layered each stroke, proud of how it was shaping up. Yet, as time went by, something changed. The painting no longer felt right; every brushstroke seemed forced and awkward. Despite this, I kept pushing forward, hoping that if I ignored the doubts long enough, they would fade away. Then came the worst part: my friends started talking about how impressive their own projects were, new exhibitions, sellouts, and collaborations with big names in the art world. All of a sudden, my unfinished piece felt like an embarrassment rather than a work-in-progress. The pressure to finish it, to make something spectacular, became unbearable. One day, after months of this internal struggle, I did what I never thought I would: I covered the painting with a cloth and locked myself out of the room for a week. My intention was just to take some time away from the looming unfinished project. When I returned, instead of cracking open that sealed-off studio space, I decided to start fresh on another idea. Since then, my mind keeps returning to that half-done painting. Part of me feels like an asshole for abandoning it; another part wishes I could completely forget about its existence. But the real reason why this is bothering me so much now is that maybe my fear isn't just of failure, it's also of the success I might be avoiding by not finishing what I started. I guess I'm stuck somewhere between perfectionism and doubt, and it's eating away at all the inspiration I once had. Now I find myself staring at blank canvases more than anything else.