A little boy saw me drawing this creature and asked, “Are you an artist?”
Me? An artist? Whoa…that’s a really big word. Way too big for me. Artist? That’s someone else. Or is it?
I don’t know how you define artist or decide you are one. What I do know is that the A-word causes a lot of grief for people–not just me.
It unleashes all the lies you learned growing up:
- Creativity is a gift bestowed on the lucky few
- Being an artist means painting in a loft in Manhattan
- Suffering is a prerequisite for making aart
- And so on
The inner critic thrives on this sort of thing. Mine is so loud, I’ve given it a name, TOI (The Ogre Inside). TOI is invested in keeping me safe, secure, and stuck. Stuck in the muck of creative despair.
It’s kind of funny now that I’m writing it down. What drama! What angst! What a waste!
So I have a proposition. Let’s just drop the A-word and get on with making art–or whatever you call it.