A WITW insight
A WITW insight
Monday, March 7, 2011
<This writing is raw. In my immediate need to get these ideas out and in the world balanced with my immediate need to get dressed for my appointment in 45 mins I chose not to edit my stream of consciousness too heavily. I’ll make it read nice and pretty later.
Or I won’t.>
In doing the Identify Your Identity task I had a moment of clarity (Can I get an Amen? This process is actually delivering on its promises.) I grew up the youngest daughter of an artist, with an older sister who was labeled the “artistic one.” I was “the smart one.”
(Disclaimer - After giving credit to what a supreme insult that is to my sister -this isn’t about her. She has her own talents and mine do not diminish hers or yours in the least. She may be working through her private frustrations about the lack of childhood encouragement for her secret dream of becoming a chemist because she was constantly thought of as “the artist.”) My artistic journey at the moment seems to be more about feeling worthy of the investment and the paralysis that comes without that feeling.
I was encouraged as a child in my endeavors at wood working, gardening, music, writing, and cooking. But painting and drawing were to remain only in my mother and sister’s domain. It didn’t take little Allie long to learn that ARTIST = DRAWING AND PAINTING and it irked me that despite laundry list of things I have accomplished I never got that title.
I still lack the identity of artist because I am not proficient in these areas, or at least I did until this morning when I started taking inventory:
I get real enjoyment from cooking difficult dishes and techniques. I love combining flavors and tasting.
I am learning to garden again. I crave the experience and frequent the local garden centers and botanical gardens to drink in the sights and smells.
I sew. I am pretty good at it. I made my own wedding dress and embroidered all of our wedding invitations. I also knit and crochet at a pretty advanced level.
I write. I have written a novel. I worked at a newspaper to be near it. I’ve had a blog for years. My friends, cousins and I used to produce pretend newspapers for fun as kids. I write every day. I’d say if there is one title I feel completely comfortable claiming in the artistic realm - it is writer.
I build things. I haven’t in a while (stupid POTS) but I’m getting back into it. Have compound miter saw and kreg jig - will build.
At different times in my life I have played the piano, saxophone, oboe, and bass guitar. Listening to music brings out the strength reserves I don’t always remember I have.
I take photographs that record the parts of life that capture my eye. Lots of them are frame worthy.
For the majority of my life I have had ideas so fast and furiously that it was all I could do to write them down. I have notebooks and sketch books full of proof that inspiration found me. (For 10 years or so I was also a single mother working full time along with a full course load in engineering. I didn’t have enough time or energy to put most of those ideas to use.)
AND I draw and paint. Sometimes badly. Always joyfully.
I claim it. I am an artist. I live an artistic life. I have 37 years of proof.