Last night, as my inner child quietly told me she still wanted to be an artist, I was filled with a wave of nostalgia. I vividly remembered a piece of artwork/writing I did in first or second grade. Remember when they gave you a sheet of newsprint which had wide lines (with dotted lines in between to help with penmanship) at the bottom of the sheet, and blank space at the top? It was that. The assignment was to draw/write what you wanted to be when you grew up. I wanted to be either a ballerina (remember that dream I had recently? Ballerina dreams...) or an artist.
On it I had divided the page in two with a line, because choosing only one thing I wanted to be seemed unrealistic, if not downright impossible. On one side I had drawn myself dancing, hair in a bun, tutu and all. On the other, myself as an artist, standing in front of an easel, wearing a beret LOL. Because you know, that's what grown-up artists wear.
Anyway I still have that piece and so I started looking for it. I didn't find it, but I’m hoping it is in one of the totes I was not willing to unearth at 10pm. What I did find, though, told me I made the right decision, choosing art. So many pieces of paper, telling a story: my life has always been about art. From a finger painting I did at age 2 to the last ink drawing I did of my beloved Patricia Edmonds, from the high school days of rock stars to the desperation days of trying to get back into it, from college assignments to little pieces I did while in art class with my kids at Sunnyside... so much art. So much. It's always been there.
For those who know me in person, you know I have almost never hung pictures of my own work on my walls, other than the Van Halen and Journey drawings. Hanging my own work was prideful, you see, and I was told at a young age that pride was a sin... and so although I couldn't "waste my god-given talent", I was not allowed to be proud of it.
Speaking of which, I remember having a conversation with someone who hadn't seen me in a long time, a sister at the 'pride is a sin' place called Catholic church. We were at some function or other, I was with my mom. Sister ____ asked what I was doing with my art. At the time I wasn't doing anything, and she was appalled, and said I MUST use my god-given talent. I asked her, if god gave it to me, why can't I do what I want with it? She was silent, and I could feel my mom beside me just itching to rap the top of my head with her knuckles, as she did when I said something she didn't like. (OMG my head is actually tingling remembering that pain).
But now? I look at my art and I am full of pride, and gratitude. My art is beautiful. And I am going to choose a few pieces to frame and hang up. If pride is a sin, then add it to the list of shit that's on my checklist for entry to hell. I make beautiful art.
I make beautiful art.
