• Artist?

    I often forget that I’m an artist – even though I have known this since at least the age of 24 when I decided to try out the identity, and it felt super edgy.  Who was I to say I was an artist?  What art had I created? (actually lots of random drawings and ceramic sculptures and dances and writing and culinary creations and clothing, not to mention an incredibly creative life, but none of this seemed to ‘rank’).  It was just life.  Me doing my thing.  Artists are supposed to be focused.  And mono or dual media creatures at best.  I was not.  Never have been.

     

    Claiming the identity at the time was awesome.  I ran a hand-painted t-shirt company with my friend, after building easels for us to paint on in the basement.  I created the largest piece of art I had ever made – a plaster bust and life size wings made of leaves.  I learned to play the dumbek (middle eastern drum). I continuously danced and wrote.  And I still felt like a phony.  Worried someone would find out I wasn’t for real and humiliate me for pretending.  I know this was some lingering childhood fear, but it felt Scary.

     

    So what’s the big deal?  Who cares if you call yourself an artist?  Well, maybe no one except you.  But I believe the title comes with permission.  Permission to do the ‘weird’ thing.  Whether the weird thing is refusing to work full time at a job or to pour all your free time into making small clay creatures to live on your windowsills. Permission to play and be free.  It is all about the freedom.  Freedom is food for the soul like air and water.

     

    So I keep coming back.  I am an artist.  I am free.  I am nourished.

    Posted Aug 27, 2012, 12:02 PM by Shanna LoPresti
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