Originally posted on 01-24-2017
Since I could hold a crayon, I knew that I wanted to be an artist. As I went through grade school, I did not really have the opportunity to take art classes. When I did, I was terrified of many of my art teachers. They were women who were harsh and unapproachable, and while all I craved was their attention and approval, all I got was overlooked and discouraged. Art became a private activity, not for school, and something to be saved for later. It was something that I believed would eventually unfold to me if I was patient enough to wait for it.
The moment I stepped foot onto my college campus, I declared myself as an art major. For the next four years, I was told what I could not do: you can not declare so early, you can not take those two different classes together, you can not paint the way you want, you can not do anything extracurricular if you are an art major, you can not have an A if you do not do things exactly as I tell you to do them, you can not get into that class so do not bother trying to get in, and you can not make it as an artist once you leave here, so you should just change majors now. All I was told was what I could not do, never what I could accomplish. For years, I had been looking forward to the freedom that college was supposed to give me. I was a sponge eager to finally soak up formal training in the field that I was so passionate about. Instead, I was disappointed by the reality of my situation. Broken down by all the rules of being an artist in the 21st Century, I played the only game I had been taught how: the dutiful student. I did what I was asked. I tried to please my teachers at my own expense. I let my inner artist and creativity be crushed and pushed aside. I saw it happening to the students all around me.
After I graduated college, I was no longer a student and finally felt free to make whatever art I wanted. It was liberating. I had no one to answer to, and I was fed up enough with the last four years of schooling not to care. I painted what made me happy, did not worry if it was “real” art or “student” art, and found an enjoyment in just being alone in my own studio space. I even had a few shows. Apparently, what I liked to paint was good enough to show in the real world, which was affirming to me as an artist breaking out of the student mindset.
I still craved the formal education that I had always thought would complete my practice. I wanted to be classically trained, and not just figure it out on my own. I have always been interested in learning the technical side of any of my passions, wanting to know why things are done a certain way and how to follow through with different processes. I applied for graduate school, needing more guidance in mastering my chosen craft in the visual arts.
The process brought back all the negative experiences of my initial schooling. I was told by school after school that I was not good enough to get into a Master’s degree, that I needed more training, and that I was behind because I had not gone to an art school for my undergraduate degree. I thought, “But that’s why I’m applying! To get good! To get the training!” They told me that I had to take some classes before I could get into a master’s degree program, and so I did. It was just like college all over again: you can not paint like that, why would you want to paint like that, no one paints like that anymore, you should paint like this, you should not paint, painting is dead, pick something more trendy to do, and do everything that I say. At this point, I was not about to lose everything that I had worked so hard to achieve. I was not going to let them stifle my creativity or my voice. I was not just a student anymore; I was finally an artist! Why was it so wrong for me to make art the way that I was drawn to making it? What made them so right about what was the right type of art and what was the wrong type of art? It was then that I learned to fight and stand up for myself as an artist and as a creative individual. Once again, I saw my classmates and how their passions were being crushed left and right. I learned how to stand up for them as well. When we decided that we no longer needed the approval of our professors, our outlooks on art changed. We were able to respond to each other’s ideas, passions, and creativity. It was no longer about fitting a mold, but about finding out who we each were. The act of giving someone the permission to be himself or herself opened everyone up as a person and as an artist. It allowed there to be a creative conversation, rather than following an academic decree of how things needed to be done. That being said, graduate school was an arduous couple of years where I was constantly fighting and defending myself to my professors and sometimes even my fellow classmates.
It took me what feels like forever to call myself an artist. I had always wanted to be an artist. In school, I studied art. But I always felt like a student, not an artist. It has been a long road, and some days I still feel like that student waiting for an assignment so that I can create. Today, I am confident in my own voice and in my right to have a voice as an artist.
I assume that many artists struggle with what to create. If not, I envy them. Sometimes divine inspiration hits, and other times finding an idea is like searching for a needle in a haystack for me. Usually, I let the every day influence me, and struggle not to overthink it. I am inspired by the people around me. I am inspired by the things we take for granted from day to day. I enjoy the mundane. I like to examine my world from my own viewpoint. To me, it does not matter what someone might about the validity of the topics I choose to paint I do not care if my work is ‘showable’ at a Chelsea gallery in New York City. I am happy when I can find a venue that appreciates my work, whether it is a gallery, a coffee shop, or a friend’s living room wall. I focus on trusting my instincts. I still have to fight my insecurities and my doubts. I tell myself that it is okay to put an idea down and see if it works. I am allowed to fail. Hopefully, when I do put my work out into the work, people will respond to something in the pieces. I love finding those connections. It makes the entire process of creating real for me.