You are not an Artist

OR am You? What does it mean anyways?

Peaking into the idea of being a creative, I have tip toed around paints in particular. Sometimes, I feel as though I am sneaking into the life of a real artist and playing with their tools while they are away, most likely to ruin something in my chaotic exploration. Do you feel like that too?

Maybe like me, you have long resisted the idea of calling yourself an artist because of the weight of comparison and judgement you imagine are associated with being an “artist”.

Maybe, you put up walls and avoid the idea because you feel like an imposter. You feel like, I could never possibly be that. If you are anything like me, you hold an artist on a grand pedestal feeling that you could only bask in awe at their creations. Forever wondering, how did you do that?

Years ago, low and broken someone gave me water colours, a brush and some paper. And I let myself play. I was surprised by how quiet I felt insid. As tears flowed, the brush stroked the paper and emotion slowed. I felt a slight flutter.

I just finished this today. This big bold statement that budded from an idea of living bohemian style.

It took me the better part of 4 months to complete it.

The joys of the internet expose you at all sorts of mediums, all sorts of ideas. Combine that with the crazy ideas of a woman with the mind of a child cooped up in the house for one or 5 too many years, things can happen.

My mind works in pictures. Images and ideas form and if I don’t get them out they repeat and repeat leaving impressions to express, if I don’t, I lose them. My first insight into this was with an ill explained rooster. I have never had the urge or inclination to look at a rooster in any other light then annoyance for the constant crooning and crowing.

As I reflect on the start of this particular journey, I recall that it had to be big. There was a wall I wanted to fill but not with a mural. I brought up the idea to my endlessly supportive husband and he said “Lets build it.”

We consulted google and YouTube on how best to build a frame of this size that would support the canvass. We settled on a 4 foot x 6 foot frame.

I remember the excitement fluttering in my belly as we bought the wood, the screws and deciding on the best kind of canvass to use on this project.

I recall how I tried and failed miserably to measure correctly and assemble the frame myself. My husband meticulous in nature and precise, came to my aid, correcting, adjusting and making it just right.

We stretched and pulled the canvass, stapled and put in additional supports and then he tipped his hat and let me go play.

Despite the grand vison I had in my mind my skill was not in sync with my ambitions. Laying the background was therapeutic, pulling out clouds and deep shadows.

I even planned and measured my picture something I don’t always do in my experiments. But this was a big one with layers and elements I didn’t want to get lost in the lack of experience.

I struggled. And I struggle some more through this one, because every time I worked away at it visions of another element nagged at my mind. It forced me to learn techniques Ive been avoiding to learn. Adapt what I had already laid down to include the new comer. White wash and erase my initial attempt and try again and again.

My paints wouldn’t cooperate at times. Making delicate strokes look like a 2 year olds blob of chocolate pudding tossed against a wall.

I worked away at it in a space somewhere between feeling excitement over it being finished, overwhelm at the work it still needed to be complete and

wanting to throw a bucket of white paint over the whole damn thing.

I would spend weeks avoiding it followed by days I could hardly pull myself away from it.

It is done. This chapter is done and after 4 months of grappling with it, the sweet freedom I feel in the release of its claws is, bittersweet.

My journey in art has taught me to have patience and allow for “mistakes”, to allow for paint to do what it will. It is not my job to try and bend and form it to my will, it is my job to let it happen and guide the expression. If I like what is at the end of it that is just a bonus.

My art journey has taught me to look at the world different. To feel into the brush stroke. To lean into the colours that surround me. To take a breath and take in the sights around me.

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I wanted it to be a piece of hidden meanings and ideas, one that you can look at over and over again and see something new. It’s the way I feel about life. About hopes and dreams. Loss and learning.

So much yet to be explored.

Welcome to my Bohemian Escapade 🦋

I am not an artist and by that, I mean I never formally studied, I have never gone to a colour class, to discuss light and shadows and theory. I play with paint. I explore.

I am not an artist; I simply like to pull apart pictures to understand the how. I like to look at them and feel the why. I like the look of paint all over my hands, on my phone. As though it validates that I actually did this. It’s supposed to be messy and crappy at times. It’s supposed to be hard and satisfying.

I am not an artist by anyone else’s definition of what an artist is, but I like to pretend to be one and that my friends is more than enough for me right now.

Have you been creatively curious? What are you working on?