I haven’t written in a while. Only thing I can think of as a reason would be my involvement in my painting. If you know me or follow me you’ll know I’ve done A LOT over the last 3-4 months. So, I guess my creative energy is being channeled into that.
And if you know me very well, you’ll know I absolutely hate labels. I don’t like labeling you and I sure as hell don’t want you trying to label me. I don’t even like labeling myself. I think labels of any kind put barriers on things. If you’re “X” then that means you can’t be “Y.” Forget that. You can call me X, but then I’m gonna Y AND Z. Probably not for a reason. Mostly just to prove you wrong.
I say all of that to get to this story. I stopped in Michael’s Friday night to get some paint to start a new project. I grab what I need and jump in a rather busy line. There was an older couple in front of me chit-chatting the folks around them. As we approached the counter the gentleman moved a stack of 5-6 canvases and I asked if the stack was his. He chuckled and said no, he didn’t paint anymore. Unusual for me, I engaged further and said that this was my second trip to that store that day and I had purchased an even bigger stack earlier. The lady then joined in having heard my statement and drew the following conclusion; “So you must be an artist then?”
I didn’t have an immediate response.
I sort of stuttered and finally came up with “Well, I paint a lot,” and laughed.
Am I an artist? I’ve never called myself that. I couldn’t bring myself to answer a pretty harmless question. I’ve always thought of an “artist” as someone who created something unique that other people enjoy experiencing. An artist could come up with a creative idea on their own or take a suggestion and formulate that into a project. Artists create things that other people are willing to pay for to own.
Why couldn’t I bring myself to answer, “yes, I am”...?
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