I'm a biker.
Biker mama.
Too old, and ummm "fluffy", to be a biker chick
But I didn't always call myself a biker even when I first started riding. I would say I'm learning to ride. Even after my first road trip to Southern Illinois. It wasn't until I rode in the Canadian downpours and Santa Ana winds in CA that I considered possibly calling myself a biker. It occurred to me then that it was my skill and a whole hell of alot of luck, that kept me upright on two wheels. I had earned my "biker wings" or atleast the privilege of admitting to being a biker. Stupid? Yeah sure. And that little voice in my head (the censor) fought against it until I said, "ok, if I didn't ride that bike, then who did". Yes, I do make a habit of talking to myself. And that's all it took. The censor shut up.
(Perhaps he realized that without that skill he had almost been shut up for good - hee hee)
But when can I call myself an artist? And when do I earn my "artist wings"? Is it when I make a sale? I already did and felt...embarrassed. Is it when I win a contest? I did when I was younger and felt...phony. Is it when I create amazing pieces like the great masters? Van Gogh didn't get his recognition when he was alive. Is it when the "professionals" (critics) call me an artist? Who are they to judge anyway? Apparently they didn't recognize Van Gogh. I wouldn't care what they thought anyway. And I've never been one to care for conformity; the latest fads & fashion bore me.
Perhaps it was the moment I reconnected to the way I used to look at life. Where I'm enthralled by dew on spiderwebs, watercolored skies, snow on tree branches, shadows, reflections, etc etc etc. Or when I catch myself looking at things and mentally tracing their shape with the pencil in my head. Or mentally scanning their image into my brain trying to figure out how to transfer it onto a substrate.Or when I get that butterfly feeling in my stomach at the smell of an art studio.
Perhaps it's the moment when I don't stare dumbfounded at a blank canvas or sheet of paper.
Perhaps it's the moment my fingers and clothes have permanent paint stains.
Or maybe it'll take an argument with my censor when I say
"ok, if I didn't create that, then who did"
But the problem is that it usually responds with a whole lot of reasons why I'll never be an artist
So for now, I still can't call myself an artist
Perhaps it'll take another scare
Hmmm, maybe I could arrange for a pile of canvases to fall on me....
I do know one thing for sure
I hate being called a crafter
I hope you call yourself a writer because your words are beautiful.
ReplyDeleteDo not set exterior world tests to consider yourself an artist.
ReplyDeleteNone of the items; money, sales, shows, etc. define whether or not you are an artist. After doing this gig for years, I have learned one thing---in your heart, you have to quash the inner critic and let the ineer artist do its work.
From what little I have seen from visiting, you ARE and artist. We are all on different art paths and levels of competency with our hosen media, but you ARE an artist.
I have tortured myself for many years, thru many competitions, etc. and finally, at the ripe old age of 50, I sit and think, "You've been successful all along. It's just not necessarily how the world defines success."
I could go on forever, but will stop here.
Being a biker is a technical skill and there are, of course the *other* bikers.
I am hoping artists open their arms to bring you into the fold, so we can keep telling you that you ARE! ♥
XXOO!!
Anne
ugghhh...a crafter is like a stab in the heart !
ReplyDeleteand we are on the same path....artist, photographer.....why those names are so hard to attach to ourselves continue to baffle me....
but we will get there....i think this is going to be our year :)
Your third paragraph is a dictionary definition of an artist, Elena. It's YOU! You ARE there. You ARE an artist.
ReplyDeleteYou know, I still can't call "my room" - my studio. It's my "art room"!
Crafter is not a chosen word. Craftsman defines someone with talent in their chosen trade. Artisan is another beautiful word. You are an artist, get past proving yourself and live it.
ReplyDeleteyou are sweet elena.....writer of beautiful blog posts....and yes....artist!! :))
ReplyDeleteJust a thought, why do you need a label? Can't you just be? Aren't you still the same person whether or not you are called artist, craftsperson, or biker???
ReplyDeleteI too believe labels diminish you. Then it's like you have to live up to the world or something. I am nothing and everything, much more freeing, a unique spirit unlike anyone else. How can we put a label on that? Society tries to peg us into something so they can understand where you fit in, in their own personal world.All my life I tried to be one thing, then realize that is hopeless. (Through declaring a major, to finding a job niche, to finding one art medium, to finding how to write my own personal way). Doesn't work to compartmentalize all that we are. There are so many 'selves" within waiting to be discovered. Just be, Elena, don't think. Cuz the trying too hard just shuts ya down (I know, I'm there sometimes). So bike, create, explore, and just be alive.
ReplyDeleteLove
Bev
Absolutely, .... Uta and Butterfly Woman have it ..... the sooner you quit marching to the drum that labels you ... ... you will be who you desire to be. But, the first thing is... forget trying to live up to the expectations of others... don't let them label you and don't label yourself... be who or what you want... and basically the hell with the world. Unless of course it is essential to make money still..and, then...well,... you be what they want 9 to 5 (or sort of) ... and have the rest of the 24 hours to yourself... for now.... but, toss out the crumbs even then..so "they"... see who you really are.....
ReplyDeleteI'm still looking for your bike...... from this post it more or less sounds like you don't have it anymore.... I'll be searching around for it for a few more posts....
oh, ....and...I learned to ride mine when I was a lot older than you .... I declared myself a biker when I avoided my first disaster and my husband biker held up 9 fingers to give me my score on my airborne maneuver .... good thing he was laughing...I almost %$it myself......