On Becoming an Artist

Something that just opened itself to me is the idea of becoming an “artist.” The beginnings of any artist is a messy story to tell, I think. The best place to start here in blog world would be in my childhood and what I thought being an artist meant. From a very young age, I felt the passion for art inside me. By art, I mean all forms of art, starting with writing and ending with music. I have always understood that art is the expression of self, there’s no doubt about it. Sometimes I could argue my passion for poetry began with music. It is a fine line and I want to tell my story correctly. So, I will vote for the “chicken or egg” theory when it comes to writing and music. I guess I listened to music from the time I was born, having a dad that was so into heavy metal. And we all know that heavy metal has roots in jazz and the blues. Anyway, chicken or egg, doesn’t matter. The point here is that the arts have been the building blocks of my life. Without the arts, I have no idea where I would be but I can guarantee it is not an ideal place.

Having dealt with a ton of childhood trauma, I drowned myself in all forms of the arts. The only problem with this is that I wanted to be invisible because that was the safe place. Artists were eccentric and their platform was loud. That was not a place for me, the introvert that found safe places in the woods. That meant a lot of time at the library, living vicariously through the characters in my books. Artists had a LOT to say and I am quiet, though always a rambler. Essentially, artists were loud and drew attention to themselves and had immense talents. In elementary school I took art class, high school there was concert band, etc. I never felt special. The whole point of artists was that they were special and torn creatures with so much to say. I never thought I could stand up to this ideal.

This is an antiquated thought. Art is for everyone, from the birds to the bees to the ego-minded humans. Again, art is the expression of self and we all have a story to tell, in whatever medium we choose. So anyway, my route to artistry has been a tumultuous one that I have tried with all my might to silence. It took twenty-some-odd years to finally get the message (which is an anecdote for another day). We all have a story. That was my logic, right? So, that means I have a story and I have already mentioned the trauma so there must be many stories left untold. That’s a fair assessment and I guess that will come later, as well.

Once you realize you are an artist and that no one can say anything to change your mind, the world becomes so much clearer. Suddenly, the flower that drew so much interest that I stared at it for twenty minutes before moving on, is a photograph to be developed later. So many opportunities lie in the palm of my hand now that I accept my true calling. I need to take many more classes before I will reach the stage of helping others using my newfound artist inside. And the beauty of my life is that I have the opportunity to study in order to achieve my dreams.

So, with this privilege comes the responsibility for me to work as hard as I can for those whom it is my goal to help through art as I mentioned before. It feels like that part is the easy part. It truly feels as though the most difficult part of the journey is figuring it out. I don't know if everyone feels this way but to me, art can take me anywhere. I am obviously not trained enough yet but once I graduate and have more experience, teaching art can be done anywhere. More importantly, I want to help people and I think that no matter where I land, I can find use of my creativity to help those around me. I think that is the ultimate goal.