The Boogie Man at the Art Gallery

“Yes, boogie men may seem like they live in art galleries, but their origin comes from self-doubt in the form of internal dialogue.”

I make a point to visit McGowan Fine Art at least once a month to see what is new and also to participate in events that the gallery holds. McGowan Fine Art is certainly one of the gems that makes Concord shine and I look forward to visiting. As an emerging artist it is important to network in the community and get to know local gallery owners. I constantly look for opportunities to get myself out there and learn as much as I can.

Recently the gallery had an “Art for Beginners” talk where artists and new collectors were invited to have an informal discussion and introduction to the fine art world. It was very informative and interesting, hearing various questions being asked and what the artists had to say. One of the main topics during that discussion was the intimidation factor that is associated with art galleries. It can be intimidating for new collectors to walk into an art gallery only understanding one thing: that they want to start collecting art. They said that it can be nerve wracking to enter into a world without knowing quite what to say or do; only knowing that they have a desire to learn more.

I can fully understand how intimidating art galleries can be. Galleries are hubs for art knowledge and the latest trends. They are an integral part to the fine art world and they wear a sort of badge of authority on what constitutes ‘good taste’ (if there actually is such a thing). Galleries can also represent a higher social status so when you have prospective collectors with a very limited budget, they might think they cannot afford good art. Of course the age old dilemma is still alive and well: how do you even start a collection?

Although it is intimidating for new collectors to walk into an art gallery, I would argue it is even more anxiety inducing for an emerging artist. Emerging artists are notorious for experiencing the impostor syndrome. Impostor syndrome involves worrying you are not good enough. This is something that definitely crosses an artist’s mind when checking out a gallery. Yes, boogie men may seem like they live in art galleries, but their origin comes from self-doubt in the form of internal dialogue. See, artists love art. We love to look at art all day and think about it in a technical sense and also in an emotional sense. So coming into an art gallery and talking about the art on the walls and the gallery itself isn’t intimidating at all. Its quite fun to chat up the attendants or owner; you will be surprised how much interesting stuff you can learn. As an artist coming into a gallery trying to scope out the scene to apply for representation, well that is a whole other ball game. I have learned to put any fear aside and simply enjoy myself. I also remind myself that everyone started somewhere- and that goes for artists and collectors alike.

So to give you an idea of how I simply enjoy looking around an art gallery and how I view the art that I see, I thought I would talk about a few pieces that really stood out to me at McGowan Fine Art’s latest show.

John Bonner, Lichen Tree 

One of the first paintings that stood out to me was Lichen Tree by John Bonner. It is a pretty big painting, making an impression when you first walk into the room. The shape of the canvas is also interesting- long and skinny. This caught my eye because it reminded me of playing in the woods as a child. I grew up in New Hampshire and most of my days were spent out in the woods doing god knows what. I vividly remember specific lighting which brought back a scent memory of dead leaves on the forest floor. When I was a child I used to run my fingers up and down trees feeling the texture. Lichen is such an interesting green color that it really stuck with me. I also think the application of the paint creates this fantastic vibration and life in the piece. It makes me feel like I’m standing right there in the forest. John Bonner has other works in the gallery and most of his work seems chaotic right up close but as you step away the chaos gives way to order, allowing the viewer to take in the entire piece at once. This is the kind of work that I aspire to emulate, simplistic shapes and values that create a dynamic and deep image.

Megan Cochran, Chocolate Frosting

I know I like a piece of art when it pulls any sort of emotion out of me, and Megan Cochran’s Chocolate Frosting had me giggling. This painting is small, probably 4-5 inches across. It is quite literally a chocolate doughnut happily placed on this mini canvas. The colors are incredibly cheerful and so is the subject. What really blew my socks off was how she used the whites and subtle grey blues to create the highlight on the brown frosting. It literally looks like you could pick it up and eat it. This kind of work really gets me going because it has a tangible feeling of optimism and the overall message to not take anything too seriously.

Kat O’ Connor, Luminous Will

Sometimes I come across a work that just takes my breath away and Kat O’ Connor’s Luminous Will did just that. What immediately struck me was how vivid the colors are. She used saturated blues and greens against the dark navy and black colors. I really appreciate artists that use shocking contrast in their work because it gives it this ‘pop’ like no other. The shading on the back of the girl’s legs wowed me- I stared at that in an attempt to imprint it into my mind so I can figure out how she did that. Finally, the composition is very unique and vibrant- it brings back memories from when I was a child wearing swimming goggles in the pool and looking up at the sky though the water. This painting made me feel like a mermaid, gazing at the world above.

Half the fun of looking at art is trying to figure out how the artist achieved that. I enjoy when I look at a piece and I have no idea how they managed to pull that off. It really boggles my mind. The most important factor for me when at an art gallery looking at art, is whether or not the piece stirs an emotion in me. That’s how I know I like a piece, enough to learn more about it or save my pennies and buy it. Going to an art gallery is an exciting and fascinating experience. Tell your boogie man of doubt to take a walk and enjoy the rich and transportive experience that a gallery has to offer.

~Dani

Buddha and the Watercolor

By Dayna

As a perfectionist, this is a frequent exercise in finding the beauty in something while at the same time accepting its flaws, and my mistakes.

There is a Buddhist tale I garnered from Opening the Door of Your Heart by Ajahn Brahm.  I will paraphrase:

There was a garden at a Japanese monastery that was renown for its exceptional beauty.  People came from all over to admire it.

One day a wise old monk decided to see this garden for himself.  He wanted to see if the tales were true and also how it was that the garden was so wonderful.  He got to the garden very early in the morning and hid so no one would see him.  Soon after a young monk came out and began to tend to the garden.  He was so deliberate with his actions, so careful.  He considered each leaf and branch that had fallen to the ground, took some away in his basket, and carefully replaced and arranged others.  He worked for hours, and when he finally came to rest, the old and wise monk approached him.

“This garden is truly beautiful,” he said to the younger monk, who beamed with the glow of the compliment from someone with so much wisdom.  But his face fell at the old monk’s next words: “It’s almost perfect.”

The monk was heart sick.  He had put his whole being into creating the perfect garden and he had not succeeded.  He begged the old monk to teach him, to show him the way so that his garden could truly be perfect.  The monk smiled, walked over to a tree, and shook the trunk with all him might.  Branches and leave and petals fell to the grass below, scattering where they may.  Smiling the wise monk walked back to his young disciple, who was wide eyed at this mess.  “There,” said the old monk, “now it’s perfect.

The message I take away from this is that striving for perfects practically negates itself.  We must make room for the chaos and disorder in our lives that not only highlight the moments of clarity and precision that we experience, but also have an innate value and beauty of their own.  Additionally, enter your endeavors with love, with purpose, determined to do your best and show it to the world.  This is an attitude I attempt to hold dear when I create a work of art, particularly when I work with my favorite medium, watercolor.  I’ve discovered that there are many aspects of Buddhism present in my process and products.

 There is a degree of the ephemeral in my process.  Each phase is embraced as it happens, then honored as it comes to an end to be replaced by whatever comes next.

My true love affair with watercolor began when I was in high school freshman art.  I found it to be expressive, fluid (no pun intended, I swear), and responsive.  I was able to work the paints with ease and eventually began to experiment at home with abstraction, with the absorbency of rice papers, and with higher quality paints and brushes as well- which was an experience all on its own.  So it was and so it has continued to be.  I have always found myself circling back to working with watercolors. Simply put, I love them.  I love how they blend and move on the page, the transparent layering, the textures you can create with the simple flow of water.  I love the ability to alter values and the challenge implicit in being limited to the “white of the page”.  No matter the artistic path I might be traveling down at any given point, I will always eventually diverge back to the same destination.  It is a pull I cannot resist.  It truly is my grounding, my center.

What I find to be fascinating about my own processes is that rarely are any two of my watercolor periods alike in style.  If I happen to try to emulate any of my art of the past, well, I can’t.  What I created before is fully in possession of its own moment in time.  There might be remnants of old paintings in new work, just as so much of our present is informed by our pasts, but the final results are always unique unto the particular episode in which it was made.  There is a degree of the ephemeral in my process.  Each phase is embraced as it happens, then honored as it comes to an end to be replaced by whatever comes next.

This particular summer is all new and has no antecedents in prior watercolor work of mine.  For the first time, I’m striving a bit more toward realm of realism.  And it has been a lesson in humility, in forgiveness, and in the fine art of letting go.  Each time I sit down to work on a painting is a meditation.

Watercolor is beautiful to me.  The way that you have to compromise with the nature of the paint creates a connection to the medium that allows for an almost trance like state because it creates a need for me to live in the moment.  Each mix of colors, each movement of my brush, each mark is considered, deliberate.  I honor their permanence by understanding that if I am not thinking fully about what is happening in this instance of “now”, I may do something that I cannot undo.

Watercolor forces commitment and a degree of radical acceptance.  Once the paint hits the page, that’s it.  I can’t go back and fix the errors in my drawing that I inevitably find.  I have to take the painting as it is and work with it.  So far I have never backed out once I have begun a painting.

The perfectionist in me tries very hard to get the drawing aspect correct.  It’s the one time that I have the power to truly unmake a mark and I take advantage of that.  I know that if my drawing is too far off it will have ripple effects down the line toward completion.  I will work and rework until I am as close as I feel as I can reasonably get.  At that point I take a deep breath and know that from now on, I will have to make do with whatever mistakes I find.   I will need to accept the flaws of my own work and still persevere to the end of the painting.

The first time I commit paint to the paper is an acknowledgment that there is no going back.  Searching for the best place in which to start is an important first step.  If I start at the wrong point, my journey to completion will be more complicated, more stressful.  I need to look at my goal for the final work and choose the path of least resistance to get there.  Knowing where to begin can be just as valuable, and just as challenging  as knowing when and where to stop.

And as I mentioned before, my work is not perfect.  I will be the first to admit when its good, but perfect it is not and it will never be.  As a perfectionist, this is a frequent exercise in finding the beauty in something while at the same time accepting its flaws, and my mistakes.  Sometimes you even find beauty because of them, not in spite of them.

That wise old monk was on to something.

~Dayna

Arbitrary: Good Intentions, Part 2

 

Arbitrary: undetermined; not assigned a specific value

When we embarked on the 40-Day Challenge, I entered into it with great enthusiasm.  There could be nothing negative about this plan, after all.  It was all about creating good habits and making a secure place in my life for creating art.  Little did I know that at less than half way through I would need to bail from what was becoming a ship sinking with my sanity in tow.

Ok, so that’s a bit melodramatic, but only a bit.  I really felt like I was crawling out of my skin.  It was becoming a chore, and worse- a meaningless chore.  The great irony was that while I was trying to nurture a consistent space for art into my everyday, this noble practice left very little room for me. It had no understanding or sympathy for who I am or how I work as an artist, and the irony or ironies was that I didn’t know this before hand.  I knew what felt good and energizing- the inspired bursts followed by long marathon sessions working on a project- but I didn’t know that trying to fit 15 minutes of making into my day on a regular basis would feel bad.  So bad that I avoided art making for a few weeks no matter the process.  Avoiding working on art was a new experience for me, and one that filled me with many feelings of self doubt and judgement.  How could I call my self an artist if I didn’t want to make art?  Yet every time I had sat down for my daily practice I felt that whatever happened to come through my hand to the page was arbitrary, in a very mathematical sense of the word (i.e. undetermined; not assigned a specific value).  And if we want to follow the mathematical comparison, much of what I really enjoy and value about art is the problem solving aspect of it.  I like to have a creative problem to solve, and the almost trance-like bliss I get from being able to give it long, uninterrupted consideration is profound.  This was forcing myself to create in a way that was uncomfortable at best, and often very frustrating.  

At first I tried to continue because, I had made a commitment, damn it! and I was going to see it through.  And of course not doing so would be some sort of failure, something I don’t do well with. But hanging on was only making me feel worse.  I just stopped.  It took me several days before I would own up to this.  I didn’t want to let Dani down, so I avoided the topic. Eventually I buckled and explained what I discovered and how I felt, and I should not at all have been surprised by Dani’s complete acceptance and approval of my decision to stop the challenge.  Both of us determined that I had had an important realization and that was the truly valuable lesson I had gained from this experiment: not good habits, but an understanding what were bad ones, what worked for my creative process (and artistic well-being) and what was detrimental to it.  No longer viewing it as arbitrary in nature, I could reflect back on the experience with a peaceful mind, and all that was left to do after that was regain my artistic identity.

My hand was producing junk and I felt like my strong sense of self was vanishing.

So much of my identity rests in my right hand.  Again, this might sound melodramatic, but it’s true.  I had had a hand injury a few years ago that severely impact my use.  I was in pain, in splints, in OT, and in emotional turmoil.  I felt like I couldn’t think as well, or concentrate.  I began to feel like the person I was was disappearing and I was miserable in ways I can’t fully articulate.  There is an almost spiritual connection between my eyes, my brain, and my hand.  My hand might be at the end of the chain, so to speak, the final point in which my perception and interpretations (mind), and desire (heart) are expressed, but it was like without that final piece the other two parts just didn’t function as well, and it felt like they had begun to atrophy.  Without the physical ability to create art I was lost.

Fast forward and although the hand works just fine most of the time, I discovered that without the desire, things felt eerily similar. Whatever made it on to paper felt hollow, unskilled, unrefined.  My hand was producing junk and I felt like my strong sense of self was vanishing.  It’s an odd sort of reverse symmetry, but there you go.  Take away the hand, and the heart and head suffered; take away the heart, and the head and hand disjoint and become arbitrary.

I aim to never be arbitrary again.

~Dayna

Satiated Artist

The truth is: Life is too short to put up with bullshit.

Photo Credit

I’ve been to about 7 different job interviews in the past two weeks. My iphone calendar is full of those little grey dots on just about every day. I’m job hunting, highly caffeinated and ready to bring home the bacon.

I used to be a special ed assistant in a school district. I was for 3 years until the crushing weight of public education bureaucracy stifled me. I’ve mentioned in other posts about what the last 8 months of my life has been like. Its been like running a marathon on 3 saltines and a shot of Jack… for 8 months. They say that when you go though adversity, you grow. “Post Traumatic Growth” comes up when I google anxiety and cancer. Now, I’m not sure if what I went through was actually trauma, but it sure was a bitch. I’m not quite out of the woods yet, and with anxiety who am I kidding, I’m always lingering in the brush. But new beginnings are starting to come to light, showing me a brighter future than my shadowy mind likes to imagine.

During the past 8 months, a truth was slowly revealed to me. That truth comes from not knowing if you are safe. It comes from being told you are inadequate while inside you are just trying to keep it together. It comes from being called into your boss’ office every week and being told that they “don’t like your attitude” when every day you consider not taking Lorazapam a victory but then taking it anyway. This truth is found when your face is mashed in the dirt and you don’t know which way to turn when you get up to dust yourself off. The truth is: Life is too short to put up with bullshit.

In the spirit of a punk rocker, and quite possibly the naivety of a fuzzy orange kitten, I am saying a big FUCK YOU 9-5 normalcy. Do what makes your heart sing otherwise you will feel your soul shrinking into a tiny depressing raisin of lost opportunity doing anything else. My husband has a decent job- enough to cover any gaps during this uncertain transition. I’ve decided I’d rather focus solely on my art and writing and keep a part time job in between these creative endeavors. I’d rather have 3 part time jobs instead of one full time job that thinks they own me and tries to make me into one of their little puppets. I’m a hustler now, a player, finding cash wherever it comes; a nomadic entrepreneur of sorts. And I’m ready to eat the world alive.

I read this really on point article from Pikaland that discussed the need for artists to have other jobs and dabble in many fields. Come to find out, this lifestyle of having many side hustles is kind of a cliché one that I am happy to come across and happy to live with. At the moment this is the list that makes up my paycheck:

• Making art- in any form eventually to sell or get into a gallery.
• Babysitting.
• Respite work.
• House cleaning.
• Pet sitting.
• Freelance writing.
• Blog writing (although this has not yielded a paycheck yet it has potential).
• Barista in a local boutique cafe.
• Ebay sales.

I’d like to add much more to the list and be so busy that I’m running a ton of my own mini business ventures. Having a typical 9-5  job taught me a lot about myself. It taught me that I crave variety and I work best when I’m doing things to advance my art and creativity.

If you are an artist of any sort I urge you to get out there and pursue many different sources of income. Not only will you be separating your proverbial eggs into many baskets, but the variety will provide motivation and creative inspiration.

~Dani

Scout of The Unknown

I lean into the weird, knowing it holds a truth that the mundane ignores.

I would have to say that most people are too caught up in stuff that doesn’t really matter. They stay in their little boxes, too scared to venture out into the unknown. I won’t lie, I’m also scared of the unknown but I flirt with it, never really confronting it. I try to look at what I don’t understand even if it does frighten me. I lean into the weird, knowing it holds a truth that the mundane ignores. Maybe the only way to be an artist is to shine light into the darkness of the unknown; to be that scout that is the first to see what lies in the fog. The job of an artist is to venture on the road less traveled, coming back with souvenirs to show the world. I am that explorer, on  a journey to nowhere in particular. Everyday I look around and go wherever looks interesting. Artistically, I don’t have a plan, I just experience what life has to offer and go from there. Not knowing what is going to happen is simultaneously exciting and terrifying.

No matter where I go in life I will always be an artist. Even if I am not actively making art at the present moment, the title cannot be stripped away for I am the one and only one who can bestow that upon myself. When I think what it means to be an artist, I think of it as my destiny, my calling, my purpose. It wasn’t always that clear that being an artist is my purpose. After many years of finding myself and being pulled back to making art, I realized what I was running away from. Living this life is not easy, and I don’t think anybody would choose this life if they knew what it meant. You don’t choose to be an artist. Anybody that has a “choice” isn’t really a true artist. A true artist, despite what he or she does, is irrevocably drawn to the act of creation. They cannot help themselves; it’s a life long pathological obsession. And if he or she tries to run away from that part of themselves, it follows them.

Art gives my life meaning. It is the filter that I pour my experiences into to make sense of them. I do not fully understand how it works, being an artist, but I do know a truth: Making art makes everything feel better. Sometimes I forget this, but art always finds me and saves me from the darkness in this world.

-Dani

Day 26

Art has pulled me through one of the most difficult times in my life, and  has given me hope when everything seemed so uncertain.

Today is day 26 of the 40 Day Art challenge. (Well, now its closer to day 32 but hey there is something to be said for the writing process). I was planning on doing this post right smack in the middle of the challenge but I wanted to take some time to really think about what I was going to say.

First, this challenge has seemed longer than it really is. I’m honestly surprised its only 26 days. I think I feel this way because I’ve experienced a lot of artistic growth lately. I started the challenge with no ideas on what to work on. I was stuck, in a rut. I needed this to get out of my own way. The first idea I went to was to try a drawing of a flower in an arrangement on my kitchen table. I defaulted to drawing because it seemed the easiest thing to set up. Drawing for me, is something that you can pick up and put down. Its something I can work on all day, but have many breaks in between. Throughout this process I realized I really value that about drawing. The medium is accessible for my lifestyle and home.

I love to paint, and I will continue to paint avidly but I have learned a valuable lesson: once you start to avoid your craft, for whatever reason, a change needs to be made. I looked back to where I was a few months ago, before I really started to make a commitment to DOING my art. I now know why I would go for weeks without painting; it was too overwhelming. The goal of finishing a massive painting that takes planning and thought, was more than I think I was ready for especially during this tough time in my personal life. I needed to fall in love with the process again. Just like how little kids like to create; I needed to make art for the sake of the pure joy behind creating something. Drawing everyday became that for me.

I started doing small 15 min chunks- the bare minimum required by the challenge rules. It was slow at first, I didn’t know what to make. But then after about a week, the ideas kept flowing in. I have discovered the more I make art, in whatever medium, the more inspired I become. Its easier every time I dive in.

My husband Brian is also participating in this challenge but with his music instead of visual art. I asked him the other day how he thought the challenge was going. He said he was getting bored of it. I asked why and he said that it is a lot of work for him to set up everything and get into recording a song to post everyday. He says its hard to get started and hes starting to run out of ideas because he spends so much time recording these full songs. It reminded me of how I felt about going home everyday from work and trying to tackle a big project like a painting. Sometimes you need to go back to the basics, go back to your roots and find your center. Drawing is helping me find my center. It has also helped me learn more about myself and my process. I have learned that I am a bit antsy and I need things to be chunked up in smaller times. I cannot do one activity for more than a few hours. I need to feel like I accomplished something, put it down, and come back to it after a romp around the yard with my dog Mona and a mug of coffee. I’m not sure why I was forcing myself to think of making art as this big production. Its not like that actually. Making art should be a part of your daily routine like brushing your teeth. A routine, a habit…

I found myself typing “habit” just now. Its funny, I believe that was our original intent, to make creation a habit.

The 40 day art challenge is not about rules. It is not about making blog posts or getting more social media attention with constant posts. The challenge is about finding what works for you as an artist. The rules are strict so it forced me to find a way to make it work in my daily life. Creation found its way into my hands through a micron pen and colored pencils. It works for me now. Making art has lit a fire in me that blew out long ago. I remember the magic art creates. I remember the feeling of pure focus as the tip of my pen glides along each bump in the paper. I remember how right I feel when I’m creating.

I have this strange pull towards the arts. For some reason, whenever I feel blue or when I’m starting to get pessimistic about life I turn to my art and it magically makes everything better. I’ve realized when you follow your true self amazing things start to happen. I really honestly believe that when I am focused on my art, I can make it through anything.

Back in October of 2015 my mom was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer. (You can read about our journey on my blog When A Good Woman Goes To War .) I was just barely making it through emotionally and I hit a rough patch when I was anxious almost all day everyday. It made it hard to think about anything else and I had a constant stomach ache and was very tired much of the day. I started a painting right after the diagnosis and kept working on it once and a while. It was hard to keep working on something so big (this painting is pretty huge and its oil on canvas which usually takes me a long time to finish with my process.) It was downright overwhelming so I stopped making art all together for  few months. I didn’t fully realize at the time that what I was doing was depriving myself of a very effective therapy.

Round about February 2016, Dayna and I decided to get together and do some watercolors at a bookstore in Concord, NH. We both wanted to get back into making art more so we figured it would be better to start together. We started talking and that’s where we got the idea to make this blog. Long story short, after much deliberation, we landed on our first quest of the 40 Day Challenge.

During this challenge the most amazing thing has been finding out how art can uplift. This is unexplainable, but every time I am making art I feel like everything is falling into place like a piece into a puzzle. I have the unshakable feeling that everything, EVERYTHING, will be okay as long as I keep creating. Art has pulled me through one of the most difficult times in my life, and  has given me hope when everything seemed so uncertain.

-Dani

 

Those who can do; those who can’t…

A student responds with, “Yeah, but you’re not really a real artist…”

One of my perspectives, which by both definition and necessity I will be repeatedly referencing, is that of an art educator.  It is an unavoidable truth that my position as a teacher of art does color my thinking.  No pun intended.

I want to share a very recent event.  I engage in a bit of theater when teaching my students about the broadly inclusive world of Conceptual Art.  For those of you who are unfamiliar, Conceptual Art is about giving primacy to the concept, the idea, of the art piece above and beyond its aesthetic value, or craftsmanship, or even whether or not an artist actually made any part of it at all.  It’s about all the thinking that goes into the work, and all the thoughts that viewing the work elicit.  To preface this particular unit I set up a Ready-made, which are basically found objects presented by the artist and therefore given meaning and import as being art objects.  I assign it a somewhat oblique, yet pointed title, and explain, while literally bouncing up and down and  wringing my hands with nervous anticipation, that this work that I am presenting to them is the art that I think will make me world-famous. “Well,” I say hopefully, “what do you think?”  I am then confronted with any number of reactions, and frequently a sampling from all of them, each one earning it’s own response from me.  

Incredulity, protest, confusion, complete acceptance.  I try to validate all opinions. After all, the opinions are the point. I’m asking them to tell me if what I made is art in their eyes.

 It’s usually quite successful, and always illuminating, but on my latest display, this happened:

Upon both navigating their comments and carefully guiding them to certain conclusions we hit on a key point: An artist is presenting this to you as art, therefore, some might argue, that in and of itself makes it art.  A student responds with, “Yeah, but you’re not really a real artist, so that doesn’t count.”

::Blink::Blink::

That’s right folks!  A student in an art class tells his art teacher that she is not a real artist.  And if you think he’s so stingy with the title when it comes to me, what are the odds that this child will ever be able to extend the title to himself?

Ooooo boy, how much I would love to take on that particular debate in all of my righteously indignant glory!   Although I suffered no bruises to my ego, that is the sort of hit that is frequently aimed below the proverbial belt.  I reply that anyone who makes art is an artist- that’s what it means.  Moving on, end of discussion.

This touches on two very real pet peeves of mine.  The first is that horrid axiom that “those who can do, those who can’t teach.” The second is this awful tendency we have as a seeming symptom of getting older, to somehow downplay or otherwise negatively qualify our identities as artist.  

In response  to the former,  I could go deeply into what the realities of a classroom teacher truly entail, but that is a rant for another day.  Please let it suffice to say that when someone-even a student-comes and says of a science teacher that they are not a scientist, that a history teacher is not a historian, that a math teacher is not a mathematician, that just because we are not in a lab or in an archive we are not an integral part of the fields that we teach, it is absurd and insulting.  And I think this applies just as strongly to those who teach the arts.

Being an artists is both merely and miraculously just a self-described sense of being that comes from the act of making.

My feelings about what it means to be an artist are equally strong, and certainly tied to the sentiments of the previous paragraph as well.  Is my work in a gallery or a museum?  No.  Sure, I would love that one day, and while I would like to profit from my art, I do not create art for the purposes of profit.  I create art because the world is fascinating and vibrant and I want to experience it through my senses and share my interpretations.  I create art because I need a space in my life in which I can breath the most deeply, find the most focus, and generate both the most energy and the most calm.  I create art because moving my hands is vital to my ability to think and process.  I create art because I want to lose myself for hours on end and then reemerge slightly altered for the experience.  I create art because I am highly analytical and thrive on discovery. I create art because the act of creation is empowering.  I create art because to create something of beauty and meaning  is part of what it means to be human.  

If any one of the above applies to you, or you have your own unique motivations for creating, I have good news for you: You are an artist!  There is no qualifying your skill or ability, there is not some sort of panel of experts waiting out there to weigh what you make against your own desire to identify as an artist.  You don’t have to have art as your career, you don’t have to have studied it.   There is no one way to be an artist, or right way to be an artist. Being an artists is both merely and miraculously just a self-described sense of being that comes from the act of making.

I teach art because I see the power in my own motivations and want to impart that power to others.  I teach art because I firmly believe that everyone has artistic potential.   I both create and teach art because I am an artist, and I am an artist because I create art.
End of discussion.