draw more

I have always had a guilty relationship with my art. A strange mixture of wanting to do it and not wanting to do it. As a child I remember drawing all the time; unicorns and princesses and mystical lands in which I wanted to live. I had art lessons starting at age 11 and continued throughout high school while also taking art classes in school and scholarship-driven weekend classes at Moore College of Art and Design in Philadelphia. I remember feeling torn in wanting to make a social life and give time to my art since both required a lot of attention. And with art, it is truly a solo effort no matter if you are doing it with other friends. I also had great fear in not being good enough, talented enough..capable enough. And I just didn’t always want to put the time in, unlike my other “art friends” who were guzzling all things art. And I suffered tremendous guilt because of my feelings of “I should sketch every day, study this particular artist, go to this school..”. I graduated from college with what I believe is an undeserved art degree..I did just enough to get by but not enough to truly push myself to limits that would have made me grow as an artist. I grew here and there, but I was such a perfectionist, and fear has dominated my life in so many facets that this was no exception. I have been tortured by my guilt for so many years, that it has almost made me paralyzed in not doing it. I worked non-art jobs and on the side have done my share of portraits and murals; posters and painted furniture..but never quite felt as if my flame was truly lit. And feeling oh so guilty because of these feelings. I sometimes don’t even like to think of myself as an artist because I am unsure if i deserve that title, especially when i have not made it my career. Fast forward to two weeks ago. My boyfriend and I were in Red Bank and walked into a community art gallery. The work was okay; nothing amazing, nothing horrible. As I neared the front desk to talk to the woman sitting there, I was greeted by a combined mixture of nostalgic scents..turpentine, oil paint, musty art studio. For those few moments, I was an art student again, with no worries about how much i did my art, or how little. Paying bills, making a living, dealing with the mundane day to day atrocities were not part of the equation of trying to capture the curve of a thigh, thickness of a shadow, the perspective in a landscape. And all of a sudden I felt this longing that had not been felt since I can remember. In those few moments I felt a knot in my stomach, and my eyes welled up as i strolled through the pices of art and wondered why I never realized that maybe ..just maybe..after all these years..I was the jury that needed convincing. That maybe it was okay for me to do my art when the mood struck, and that I was, after all, still an artist even if I didn’t make it my career, or live, sleep, and breathe it. I have tortured myself with what I thought an artist should be instead of just being one.

strong with this one. I think I have finally declared myself an artist. I am working on two murals in the next few months, finished a portrait and will be possibly be getting another. I hope to start a website and start doing more murals, portraits, painted furniture, and other artistic endeavors. At least if I try and fail I can be happy that i gave it a shot. (Smiles silently..kind of excited)

lest my inner demons hear…this is ..gulp..working ;)

Here is the plan of attack:
1. Bring small sketchbook with me every where
2. Draw a little something each day..even if it is for 5 minutes only
3. Seriously think about what I want to do with my art..even if it is part time

Yesterday a quick sketch. Didn’t hate it. Didn’t love it. Maybe this is the start of something. Probably not, but I can dream.

so afraid of? To fail? I think that is it. Or am I afraid that I will get hooked and then need to make time in my life for my art?