~ Eric Wert, artist, as quoted in
Hi Fructose, The Contemporary Art Magazine, Vol. 23
In the spaces between my mothering and housekeeping, I am an artist. The past couple of months I have mauled over the concept of this label. Where are the cracks in my life that I am and artist? Wait, why are these times cracks, just slivers? Should it at least be a fourth of the pizza that is my existence as a human Being? And, what the heck makes me honorable enough to be labelled an artist, or a semi-famous artist as my daughter has introduced me to her fifth grade class?
Sometime last spring, I found I was hungry for more then just a slice of cheese pizza. No, I wanted artichokes, olives and mushrooms. The first step in "owning" the label of artist was to validate this as my job, my career choice, how I make money even though the amount is minute compared to my husband's income. So, I set office hours. For a minimum of three days a week, I work from 1-3. I modeled my hours after those of writter-mothers I read about by finding a time when I am least busy and feel my best (example: the commercial where Tina Fey locks herself in the laundry room so she can write...think they were selling drier sheets??) Though I crave more time many days, two hours seem to be a block of time for many creators that is doable in that it avoids being so incredibly drained from the creation process that you can't get dinner on the table.
Summer changes this rhythm as I care for kids, travel, and grasp at family time while it is still the four of us and no grumpy teens. Yet, I insisted on providing myself with time, studio time. The kids eventually accepted that no means no. That "I need a studio day" meant I'd be pretty grumpy if I didn't get it. And, they realized I did actually stop and make them lunch at noon. Yes, this process of training myself to take my studio time was also beneficial for the kids. They learned to be by themselves, figure out what to do without a coach, and just have their own creative time, often near me in the studio. Wow, imagine that, free range parenting. Of course, I might slide in that we had set an incredible foundation of moral grounding with the structure of common sense and routine.
As we roll into the school year, my days are opened up to silence; just me and the air conditioner. Awe, and yoga. Even though I couldn't attend classes, I continued my practice during the hot months with what I call Lazy Yoga. Some might call it am/pm or sunrise and sunset yoga. None the less, I would not be standing straight without it. With yoga comes meditation. They are partners, twins, a yin yang. Imbedded in the meditations are my images. My images are what I create.
As I move forward to a school year with more office hours, a bigger slice of the pizza I call my life, I gift myself to pick up something and just do it, empty my brain, and follow my intuition. In college, I had a severe ear infection, pneumonia in my mastoid. I know, weird. After being hospitalized for nearly a week, I was released to my mother's care. We stayed in a hotel and had strawberry Belgium waffles every morning. I could not think straight and walking was a real trick. Fortunately, most of my professors allowed the two week absence as the term was nearly completed and I was in awesome standing. One did not. My figure drawing prof insisted I attend or fail the class. So I did. Mom drove me to campus, walked me to class, and insisted I be allowed to sit on an easel horse instead of standing the three hour lab like everyone else. So here I was, strung out on Demerol trying to draw a naked human. Long story short, in my final portfolio of ten drawings shows my growth throughout the term. I can see why artists often do drugs. Yep, I learned to draw what I see, not what I told myself to see. I stopped trying to draw humans and just started drawing what I saw. The Demerol turned off my left brain, the analytical and fear based brain, releasing my right brain to do what it does best.
So I sit in the first few hours of my "work shift," and feeling extremely excited for this coming year. Through the last two years, my brain has been rewired. My brain surgery in 2012, almost took my painting hand. Yes, I was worried about this and that and important stuff like family in the hours before I was contorted and strapped to a table (okay, they put me asleep first but was apparently twisted up and strapped down). I was also really concerned that the right side of my body would be paralyzed. I had called in my artist friends giving them charge to make sure I could still create whether it meant training my left hand to hold the brush or finding acceptance in figure painting abstracts. Graciously, I came out walking...well, in a couple of months after therapy, anyway. And I can paint short times the gift is the surgery was in my left hemisphere. May sound silly, but thank goodness! Like the Demerol, it turned off a few unnecessary cells allowing to the right ones to grow and thrive. Yet, again, I have changed the way I look at my art and the process within which I play.
I am ready to sit down, or stand, at my easel and create. Accepting the title of artist is not always easy no matter the medium one expresses themselves. Yes, I truly believe EVERYONE can learn to draw. I mean you. Stop turning off your brain with the "I can't," just grab a marker and make a mark. An artist has the ability and drive to strengthen the ability to follow their intuition and LET IT GO. <insert Daughter singing Let it Go from the movie, Frozen here> May my office hours commence. I, the artist, am ready and committed to my role.
Amen.
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