October 2013

TODAY’S MUSINGS:

Being an artist is not the same as being a banker, nurse, clerk or any of those “day” type jobs. Being an artist is not limited to a time frame. Those of us who pursue creative endeavors are driven by a desire that’s not often easy to describe. It’s like a fire in our souls. I’ve always said, “If I don’t write, I will die or go crazy or worse.” That follows into my passion to draw or paint or take photographs.

To me, it feels like that desire is wrapped around my entire being. It has permeated my very self. It’s buried deep within my soul. Yes, I feel “I WILL die or go crazy or worse” if I am not doing something creative. Even when I’m not actually DOING any art, I am THINKING about it!

I am consumed by the fire of creativity to the point where a lot of other things have fallen by the wayside. As much as I love my family, I seldom spend time with them. I don’t visit friends unless they are other artists and we get together for conversations and meals. I haven’t gone on vacation or spent a night away from home in ten years because my life is so wrapped around my art. If I didn’t have reasons to leave the house, I would just stay inside working and thinking.

When I do leave the house, it’s often with the possibility of something artsy. I never leave home without my camera, pens, and notebook. Even the paying job that I have with the local newspaper is tied up with a form of art because of the writing and photography. I call my outings “adventures” because I never know what else I’ll find along the way.

Being an artist can be all-consuming like eating, breathing, sleeping. It’s hard for those who are not artists to truly understand that driving desire to spend hours in solitude. Sometimes artists will go to any lengths to do what they do, often forsaking family and friends. They can become very self-centered. (Yes, I include myself in that statement.) Throughout centuries, artists have been homeless, penniless, and at the bottom of the barrel. They’ve been persecuted and ridiculed in their endless pursuits. Still they persevered. Those we now consider masters fell into all of these categories at one time or other.

I often feel guilty for following my own pursuits instead of being a better daughter, mother, grandmother, wife, and friend. I’ve followed my heart and for the most part, I am happy. I read a lot of biographies of other artists and there are patterns. I am gaining a better understanding of myself through reading about them.

However, one thing I miss in these books is what the artist emotionally went through in life. Most works are written about accomplishments, events, and interactions with others, but seldom can we ever really know who that person was on the inside and this is one of the things I want to explore. It’s a hard subject because people often have a difficult time talking on a more intimate level. Then, too, it can be uncomfortable for the listener to hear. I often find there are times when there are no words to describe what I’m feeling.

Perhaps the life of an artist can’t be told in one whole story. Maybe it can only be brought forth in pieces. I share a few thoughts and something triggers in you and you respond. Perhaps others will be so inspired to also partake in the conversations. One line can lead to an opening in better understanding who we are and what makes us do what we do.

Namarie, my friends,

Sasha