i just spent 4 months traveling to multi-disciplinary artist residencies around the country and met dozens of painters, sculptors, writers, poets, screenwriters, composers, ceramicists, printmakers, photographers, and even one luthier, which was a word i did not know until now. these artists were from all over the world, all different backgrounds, all in different stages of their careers. some were just beginning while others were well-established and prominent in their communities. we were all working on wildly different projects; some had uhauls of 6x6 canvases and others had mountains of clay; some needed huge studios, pianos, a potter’s wheel, or like me, only a nice place to sit and a coffee pot.
most of the artists i met weren’t full-time. they either had side gigs or day jobs. i met an insurance broker who was a screenwriter, a painter who used to be the manager for an actor whose name you would definitely recognize if i told you, a photographer who had to leave for a day to do a shoot with a different actor whose name you would recognize if i told you, a farmer who was a poet, a farmer who was a collaborative artist and who noped off to scotland once a year to Make Stuff with her art cohort, and yet a third farmer who made brooms, a ceramicist applying for MFAs, a former librarian working with textiles and who spent a lot of time asking for yarn donations from thrift stores. the youngest artist i met was 22 and the oldest was in her late 60s. all classes, all races, all genders, all sexualities, all levels of education. some married with kids, some single and traveling.
the only thing every single one of us had in common was that, at some point in our lives, we’d all made the same choice: to be an artist. and that’s all it is. a choice. many of us blurred the lines between art and craft, amateur and expert, hobby and profession. and i realized none of those boxes are real. art is not a product or even a pursuit; it’s not something you ever achieve, and it’s not about being good or talented or disciplined or skilled. it’s about asking a question of the universe and using art to answer it. explore some facet of your experience and attempting to externalize it, to share with others, to say, “i want to show you how i see the world.”
i talk to so many aspiring writers who are interested in living a creative life, but insist they don’t have anything to say, or they’re not good enough. but you don’t get to decide if you’re good enough, you only have to honor your interests. you do the work. you apply and submit and get rejected, but you’ll get accepted sometimes too. you will. it may be one win in a sea of losses, but it only takes one lifeboat to save you.
art is still worth doing even if it seems like nobody wants you to do it, or you’ll never be able to do it as a primary occupation, or you’ll never make money or become famous from it. your art will never appeal to the greatest common denominator. being good does not necessarily mean being loved, lauded, or known. your work is allowed to upset, offend, appall. it can thrill, confuse, bore. it doesn’t have to be everything, it just has to be something. it has to exist. you have to make it exist.
kaledo-art
stormborns
pixelskylines
titsay
areudirty
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
