It seems that every year I have this internal struggle as an artist, but this year it seems more expansive than in years past. This morning I’ve been thinking about who I am, the work I create, what calls me to be creative, what drives my artistic hand. The answer used to be that I paint because I feel called to, I need to, it’s an unwavering desire to put paint on canvas. Is that true? Every year I sit down and determine what I have or have not done to be fulfilled as an artist and every year I come up short. I apply to things and get rejected almost constantly, which leads to feelings of inadequacy. I tell myself, “you worry too much about other people’s expectations, you just need to paint what you want to paint and stop seeking approval”. And every year I start that process over again only to slowly fall back into the patterns of approval seeking and losing my voice.
This time though it feels different. This time I have been asking myself “what even is your voice?”. I have focused on symbolism in my work for so long, I have researched different aspects of each piece so that I have a concept and idea behind every addition. I told myself, that’s you, you love symbolism. But do I? I include a lot of symbolism because I love flowers, plants, animals, rocks and minerals. I love the moon and stars, the sound of the wind, watching bees and listening to the birds. That’s why I include those things in my work, not because a love of symbolism but because of a love of nature.
Then I ask myself why I paint. I think I paint because of a drive to, like I mentioned, but do I? Do I paint because I feel so called to that I must or do I paint because I so badly want to be an artist, to continue the path I have been on for decades? I’m not actually that good at painting. I’m not actually that good at conceptualizing pieces. I love painting, I really do, but more so I love being creative. Right now I’m struggling with what that creativity is calling me to do.
I don’t know if it’s the state of world, the realities of living in a capitalist imperialist society that values profit and war over human lives and the planet, but I don’t know what I am supposed to do as an artist. I want to be part of a community, I want to help enact change, I want to live a life that is sustainable and communal, and painting these little paintings and posting on Instagram and going to work at a restaurant doesn’t feel like it fits with any of that. I tell myself making art is revolutionary because I want to think that I’m doing something to make the world better, but I’m not really. Right now I want to throw a bucket of paint on my work. Right now I want to break every stretcher and throw everything in a dumpster.
What am I called to do? What am I good at? What I’m actually good at is hugging my children, watching bumblebees, listening to the wind blow through the trees. Right now I don’t really feel good at anything else. What I want is to grow flowers and food, to take care of animals and my children, to have artists come and stay and walk through the woods and talk about life and death and pain and love. I want to facilitate growth for everyone and thing around me. I don’t know if I want to paint. I don’t know if I want to make any art. I might just want to make blankets and dry flowers and nurture and love.
If you’ve made it this far thank you for indulging my ramblings. I hope that this at least might help someone else to feel that they’re not alone if they feel the same way. Let’s create community together. Let’s hold each other close and support each other. That’s really all we can do in this beautiful terrible world.
Walking in the redwoods in July