I am an Artist. Kind of. (Based on a Loose Translation of the Word)

I am going to take a moment and be vulnerable with you guys. Ready for it? Come a little closer…

…

I do art.

…

There.

It’s out there; that phrase I’ve set aside for myself, because it’s too hard for me to describe myself as an artist except in my imagination, where unicorns roam free and plaid flannel shirts will always be hip. There’s this social mindset that only pricks, posers, or “real” artists get to call themselves by that sacred nominative. And by social mindset, I mean my mindset.

[Whoops, there I go, speaking on society’s behalf again. You’d have thought I’d have learned my lesson by now…]

I’m not going to get into a discussion on what constitutes a “real” artist here, because I know a lot of my hang ups are just that – hang ups, usually having to do with me not living up to an unattainably high standard I’ve created in my mind. A sick perfectionist streak is probably my most irritating quality (irritating to me, anyway; don’t even ask my husband what he thinks is my most irritating quality, I guarantee you’ll get a different answer).

I’ve never been to art school. I didn’t take art classes. I will never be mistaken for Vigée Le Brun or Kahlo. However, I find most of my joy in creating, whether it’s writing or oil painting or arranging spreadsheets to have hidden explosives in them.

Ha. Just checking to see if you were paying attention.

At one time or another, I have tried most branches of the arts and crafts, tentatively dipping my toe in first, often discovering some level of aptitude, then diving in. Jewelry-making. Crocheting. Sewing. Fashion design. Drawing. Piano. Singing. Cartooning. Writing poetry. Writing short stories. Writing an unfinished novel. Portraiture. Landscape. Dancing (not well. Not well at all). Acting. Directing. Photography. Graphic arts? Not so much, as I frequently desire to set fire to my computer. Pottery is the only area I completely eschew though, partly because I don’t like the way wet clay feels, and partly because I still remember my frustration when the clay pumpkin I made in kindergarten didn’t turn out flawlessly. Even at six, I was a harsh critic.

[I can hear you all protesting, “But that scene in Ghost! Pottery is so sexy!” And I will agree with you on that one. Pottery is sexy. Except not when it’s filled with cursing, lumpy sculptures and me obsessively scrubbing clay out of my fingernails. Just…no. And who does art for the sole purpose of being sexy, anyways? I would like to meet that person and punch them in the groin with a chainsaw. Wait, where were we?]

At one time or another, each of the other “hobbies” have captured my imagination, and allowed me to express myself in a world that encourages conformity and in which I usually find myself feeling stifled and…ill-fitting.

My work will probably certainly never be called “groundbreaking.” It’s all a great big experiment based on the hypothesis, “I think I can do that, too.” So I just do it.

And it makes me happy. Fulfilled. Trying to capture what goes on in my imagination, like a snapshot that takes time and emotional energy for creative fuel.

Let’s just say, in the safety of this space, I am an artist.

Because none of you can laugh at me here.

OR I KICK YOU OUT.

If you all play nicely with me, I will share some of my artwork with you.

Then, you can wait to make fun of it behind my back, because surely you wouldn’t do it to my face?

These are some of my earlier attempts. I am working on several projects right now, but I have a strict “Do Not Show My Incomplete Work that May-Or-May-Not Still Look Like Amateurish Crap” policy. And I don’t know, maybe this stuff still looks as amateur as I am, but damn it all, it was fun!

Gosh, this is like having a baby and putting it in school for everyone to torment and make fun of. You lose all perspective. Please be gentle to my fragile brain-children.

My current projects are WAAAYYYYYY different; I am moving away from the realism a bit. You’ll just have to wait and see when they’re done…unless I’ve murdered you for telling me my art is shit.