Ever since I was young I labeled myself as an artist. It was one of my favourite past times as a child and even into my teen years. Shoot, my last year in high school consisted of mainly art classes and choir classes (but that was beside the point). I was an artist.
When I was ready to move out of my home my stepmother, B, helped me find a building that catered to the artist. It was beautiful – an old wagon factory that was turned into 100 apartment complexes and had amazing artist lofts and amenities. They had their own darkroom, a kiln and potter’s wheel as well as gallery space. It was perfect! I was home as an artist.
There I worked with the artist group, even gained a few friends (though I was the youngest). We put on shows and I even sold my first piece of art – to my Uncle. I was officially an artist.
Late at night I would stay up with pastels or watercolours and create beautiful backgrounds, paint women or even sketch out celebrity portraits – even sold a few or commissioned a piece or two myself. It was wonderful. I was home. I lived and breathed being an artist.
Until I wasn’t
Money became an issue. Typical for a starving artist and I had to pick between eating or drawing – slowly I picked better choices. The pastels were put down in favour of a better night’s rest to put food on the table. The paper was left untouched each day or even moved from its once permanent place on the table.
Then it happened… I met Travis. I was happy and content and I moved to save money and then everything spiraled into bliss. But, I wasn’t an artist anymore.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful that I made those choices that I started to pick myself instead of an obsession. If I didn’t, I don’t think that I would have been able to see Travis at all. My mind would have been clouded by bitterness or depression.
Now I miss my once passion in art. Not the art of depression or the never ending sadness that came with it, but the joy of creating. I miss the swirl of colours colliding together as they rinse from my hands and tumble down the drain. How do I go about finding the time for art?
This Christmas I was blessed, not only be Travis – but by his family in more art supplies. I beautiful Wacom graphic tablet, paper, colours and brushes – items that I had long since sold off in the States because I felt I didn’t need them anymore.
You see, they became a crutch for me in my youth. Like a staple and a reminder of the wolf on my shoulder or the depression that I’ve talked about. So I tossed them away in hopes to finding something else to soothe my broken heart. Though, I found what I was looking for – I found that I’ve missed something else as well.
The depression comes and goes and I no longer feel the dragging chain around my neck. I’ve learned to deal with it and move on in safe and helpful ways. But, the feeling of loss still lingers and only just now have I figured out what it is that I’m missing.
I am missing being an artist again.
Finding the time for art
Now, in 2017 I feel that it is time to take up that mantle again. I have the tools and feel its good time to start sketching once more. With these tools, I will become an artist – reborn.
I plan on doing this little by little. Taking time out of my busy day to do quick sketches of things I see around me. I will pick up the camera more (now that I’ve found the battery) and not shy away from a photograph. Past sketchbooks will be browsed and shown on various social media. I will create because that is always what I’ve wanted to do.
I will become an artist.