You don’t have to be an artist

One of my biggest revelations in my journey as an artist was also the thing that almost ended it.

I’ll explain:

I mean, this is a blog. Obviously I’ll explain. I’ll probably over-explain. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?

Technology is fantastic. I hate it. Artists and creators have never had a more easy, straightforward way to connect to their audiences than we have today. You can literally create something, take a picture of it, and send it out to the world in an instant.

Isn’t that horrible? Keeps me awake at night. The ease of distribution of art, drawings, writing, and other things I like to make has taught me one thing: I’m pretty bad at it.

I could make and post my artwork every day. But that means I would have to make artwork every day. I worry sometimes that people think that I actually create that much artwork… that I’m some sort of “real artist.” It’s pretty exhausting to know that there are people out there who would look at my artwork right now if I made it.

And also right….now. And ….now.

And so on and so forth to infinity and all the individual spaces of time in between that. Sometimes I feel like the entire universe is my middle school art teacher, and I have an innumerable amount of missing homework.

I’m about to get held back.

Actually, they don’t do that anymore. I know this because I am an actual middle school teacher. We don’t hold kids back anymore for just floating through the year. We just shake our heads and open the door so they can just keep on floating.

I have a difficulty explaining why, but that passivity makes me feel worse. The fact that I can just bob along with my half finished work, and no one will say anything to me. It’s narcissism, I guess. There is a part of me that is indignant with the world around me for not recognizing me as a genius… even though I have offered no evidence for my case. It’s almost as if I was not an artist this whole time, and I could more easily define myself by whatever it is that I do to to make money.

Right. A teacher. I’m a teacher. Actually, I’m a pretty decent teacher, if I do say so myself. I put in a lot of effort, at least. When I’m not on vacation, actually, I am a teacher every day. I never think much about that.

I realized something about 10-15 years ago after years of trying. I have wanted to be an artist for most of my life. I have been trying all my life. Then one day, I just had this thought… and it made me go cold, and made my heart beat faster at the same time. What if…

What if you just walked away from it? Who is making you do this? DO you even like it anymore?

You don’t have to be an artist.

I’d like to say that I acted immediately, but keep in mind that this idea challenged an identity I have wanted since before I can even remember. It was a scary thought. I couldn’t let go of it. The pursuit of it caused me such stress, and such anxiety… but I thought I couldn’t be happy without it. I piled so much pressure on myself, I felt like if I walked away from that drive… it would neutralize my investment.

It took me a few years. By this time, I had basically burned myself out on the creation of art (in all the forms I had bounced back and forth on) to the point that I wasn’t really creating things anymore. It wasn’t a body of work I was walking away from. It was just a title that no longer made sense to me. A title and good old-fashioned American guilt for not turning my abilities into a way to mole money.

So, I got a “real” job. I moved to another country. I made friends who weren’t artists. I did things I thought were fun. I used to tell people that I didn’t like blockbuster movies and pop music. I love those things now. A lot of people do, it turns out. False sophistication is as exhausting as pop, booms, car chases and 4-chord progressions are fun.

So, I’m not an artist anymore. This lasted about … I want to say…a year.

Maybe less than that.

I just one day started making things. I made friends, and I wanted to give them things. I went on dates with pretty girls, and I wanted to keep their attention. I had these amazing stories from teaching young children that were too good not to share. There were dark times too. Sometimes an emotional upset or a bout of depression would cause art to burst out of my fingertips and cover me like a warm blanket. It took me a while to even realize that I was doing it.

What happened was that my relationship with art had changed. It wasn’t any longer about this heavy crown of importance that I had forced onto myself. This obligation that I had to prove to others around me. Art was my friend. Art was my comfort and medicine.

This is what walking away taught me. Art was never the problem. It was all about the top heavy high horse I had built for myself when I thought I had to be an artist. But I don’t. I never did.

I try to walk away more often now. I have no actual external pressure to keep creating. It’s all an imaginary jail cell I built around myself. I am free when I choose not to lie down in it. The thing that I love about walking away is that every time I do, it comes back to me. I get to have the art when I walk away from the title. The art is all I really need anyway.

I see it a lot these days, now that I know where to look for it. I think that young creators get sucked into it really easily. I worry about some of them. Apologizing for not posting for a week… self-deprecating comments about their work. Going back to school to invest in extra degrees that will not advance their careers. The signs are everywhere. If that’s you, I want to tell you something.

It’s not the art. It’s an identity you made up. A prison you built around yourself. The good news is that art is your friend. You can walk away from that prison. The two of you. Together. You don’t have to be an artist. Walking away today does not mean you can’t pick it up again later when you’ve learned the right relationship.

I am still walking away from it to this day. For me, the journey of art has been about walking away to see if it follows me.