I come from a family of artists. Both parents are painters. I did my first painting at 2 years old which my father framed. I have been creating since I can remember and creativity for me is as necessary as breathing. So, why have I never considered myself an artist? More importantly, why have I even resisted being an artist? It’s because for me, art is a dirty word.
Let me explain. While creative expression has been a part of my life since the beginning, my parents, who were always making art, were/are problematic people. My father was abusive in a range of ways. A major part of his negativity was always around being an artist. This translated into him always being broke, which for me as a child meant second hand clothes, no money for bare necessities at times, a landlord constantly threatening eviction which was scary in the middle of NYC, and certainly no extras, ever. Emotionally being an artist (I perceived in my father) meant being under appreciated, not recognized, not successful and resentful of others who did succeed.
The truth is that being an artist did not cause these things for my father. He did. Creating art came easily to him but that was not where his heart lay. He wanted to be a jazz musician instead but his family forbid him because his father, my grandfather, who was a jazz musician for the Bix Beiderbecke band, had committed suicide two days after my father was born. Jazz didn’t kill him of course, it was the stock market crash of 1929. My father was born in February 1930 and his father, Nelson Young, did not feel up to the task of caring for an infant and took the cowardly way out. This then associated being a musician with suicidal tendencies. With a career in music denied to him, my father pursued his next dream of being an animator for Walt Disney, but his multiple applications were rejected. So, with his first two dreams inaccessible to him, he resigned himself to his third option of being an artist.
Then at 21 my father had great success and was given a one man show in NYC. But when you pursue a career that is not your passion, nothing is good enough. So it was. My father continued to produce art, quite prolifically, but he resented it and he expected everyone else to praise him continually. Therefore, he didn’t cultivate the relationships that could have furthered his success. He never had a one man show again. He passed away in 2001 and only a few know his work.
My mother is a very different artist than my father was and did not carry the same resentment, but at the same time, she also never had the same drive. For her, art is always something she longs to do but rarely makes a priority. She has also always been financially challenged and, as a result, depended on her children to support her, even when she was young enough that she could totally provide for herself.
So between the two experiences, being an artist was associated with struggle, unhappiness, lack of money, and resentment. I didn’t want to have any part of that. But that is not the only reason that for me, art has been a dirty word.
Recently I had two situations where I was donating my time and the people that I donated to did not appreciate what I was offering and ended up abruptly switching to someone else for the services I had been offering. One situation involved family so it was particularly challenging. Another involved a group that I had come to consider as family. In both cases, I knew I had something to offer and all I wanted in return was to feel appreciated for that. But when these situations did an about face, I was forced to withdraw. It brought up a lot of emotions, specifically around my self worth.
When things happen in my life, I can get wounded just like anyone else, but after I lick my wounds, I try to look at meaning, lessons, or patterns in what has happened. Why is it happening and what do I need to learn from this? In this case, I realized that I have a pattern of filling up my time for others because I want approval and validation from them. But why? I know who I am, I know my skills and capabilities. Why do I keep giving my time away for free? I think it is because I don’t fully believe in myself.
Many people have considered some of the things that I make as art but I have always discounted it. As a descriptor, creative I can accept, but artistic sticks in my throat. Why is that? In these two experiences that recently happened, I realized that the real reason that I fill up my time is so that I have less time to create for myself. If I really dedicated myself to making art, something that my heart longs to do, then perhaps I would have to come to terms with my legacy and challenge the beliefs that I have had around what being an artist really means.
So it is time for me to release myself from the restrictions I have placed upon myself. It is time for me to embrace art and let the rest go. I am not my parents. I have provided for my family. I do not have resentments that I bring to the table. I am ready to allow my artistic expression to emerge and honor it as such. I am an artist. There, I said it and as such, I leave you with some of the art I have created. Believe it or not, I had to resist putting the word art in quotes. It’s a process of acceptance. I’ll get there.
