Posted on November 23, 2010
I decided today that I am a painter.
Last week, as I registered for school I struggled with balance between work and school. At it’s simplest…I feel guilty to be going to art school. I feel guilty and even silly to call myself an artist. Who gets to decide that? I am not a very good artist, yet. Maybe I will never be. I don’t know. The guilt is not helping.
Give up the guilt? If it were that easy. When people learn I am in school they ask, “what are you studying?” I know they expect me to day something practical, like nursing or accounting. I know they do because they have told me so. When I answer art, there’s a pause, then nothing. And I try to explain…’pipe dream”, “always wanted to do this”, or worse “I know it’s not practical, but…”
I am ashamed of my lack of conviction.
But this morning, as I stood at my easel, painting cold white figures, the oil was warm on my canvas and every stroke was living and new and right. Right in a soul confirming way. This is what I am supposed to be doing.
In that moment, I decided, I am painter. I am over forty and I have been painting for less than a year; I have no skill; I have no idea how to properly clean and care for my brushes, I’ve never stretched a canvas, or finished an oil painting, but I am a painter. I am a painter.
Posted on November 12, 2010
so much time before
so much thought, little of it creative
so much of it pushing and tearing apart
the mind is the artist’s bully
the constant tormentor
full of reasons why not
ready to say ‘pack it up and settle’
or ‘it could be easier’
and then we ponder
what is easy
rita said ‘to make art is scary, you should prepare yourself for that’
no lesson plans for fear
only time and time
and more time
Posted on November 11, 2010
Posted on November 9, 2010
Posted on November 8, 2010
Posted on November 6, 2010
not a chain, or a road, or even a simple
path of flattened blades of grades
rather it is like breath
but often unnoticed
until it changes
then one might say,
“when did this happen?”
there are sometimes signs,
but often not
simply one day is more different
than the last
and we are