An artist in name...

The other day I mentioned to a co-worker that sometimes I didn’t think of myself as an artist anymore. He asked me way.

I launched into and explanation of how I don’t make any money off of it, I don’t have time to do what I want, I lack confidence and motivation. I amended, sometimes I still do think of myself as an artist… but I’m failing. I joked that I couldn’t conceive of being defined by my job so there was no choice but to be an artist. But my confidence is shaky about this. I remember art, and I don’t know that what I do is anything like that.

My mom’s birthday was coming up. It was actually last week. And I wanted to give here some framed art. But my art… is what it is and often it is not hung on peoples walls. It’s described as children’s book illustrations. I suppose its true but… why does that seam so insulting sometimes? And why do I draw so many strange little children’s scenes, with fish and animals and mermaids and whatnot?

So I had an idea. A terrible idea… a tacky idea. I would take a photo that I liked from my cell phone, which was little blurry and off and paint it for mum. You have to understand that this idea intimidated me. I haven’t done anything like that since college, since high school. I picked a fun image, my sister and I in red in blue wigs, on the way to the Patriots game. I wanted to like the image. I didn’t want to get sick of it half way through.

My first attempt was laughable. I abandoned it soon in... feeling nonplussed about the whole affair. But something inside of me was ticking, and I thought to myself surely you can do better than that. And I did.



So it’s not perfect. I’m seeing more faults by the minute… but I didn’t think I could do this any more. It’s kind of like doing the handstand.

Hadley gave me the best compliment I could possibly get. She told me I had another donut moment. I couldn't have been more pleased.