Being an artist myself I have struggled to find my inner voice in my art. I merely was gathering talent and not passion. I was singing without a song. And I was writing without a story. Here I present an essay from my journal in which I present the thought that one can not own a title of a true artist until one has something to say through one's work.
We all see this world in a unique way that is all our own. It differs from person to person. We all see the same objects but personal and life experiences act as a highlighter through our surroundings. What a person connects with directly correlates with how they view the world and what is important to them. If we were to place 10 people in a place, we are diverse enough that, each person would see and marvel at different aspects of the space.
I have found in every instance I see things uniquely in a way that resonates with me. A tree in a field lit a certain way, a child in a grocery cart pulling off her socks with a naughty grin, a man wrapped up in his own world laughing at nothing I can hear, these small things litter my sight with inspiration, humor, and curiosity. This observation of life has been seen as a hobby, or a personal activity, and then I went to art school. And that hobby, I found, had an important part of my success as an artist. As an art student you gain the talents to capture what it is you highlight in your life. I kept these two things far apart from the other. Talent and school was on one side, and my fascination with life musings stayed the polar opposite.
In school you are given subject matter to help you practice your blossoming talent. You are challenged by instructors to share an interesting composition that speaks to you. You nod your head and glaze over the words about inspiration and personal blah, blah, blah, “make me want to look at this”. If you’re good enough you can get away with pure talent and fiend inspiration. You paint technique and let passion sleep while you carry out assignments. At this point you have a skill set. You are not alive as an artist. The mundane sets in and the fire of discovery is quieted into slumber and boredom, it slumbers as you make art. Then, suddenly, you have that day. That day, when you wake up and realize why you have taken on the name and role of "artist".
I believe that every artist has this day. You wake up with an impassive attitude to go “make art” and something inside you changes. You put together why it is we do what we do. Mine came on a day when I met a small tree on a lavender hill in Ghost Ranch New Mexico. His name was Estivan and it was through painting this tree I learned that I had become a true artist. It was a day ridden with homesickness and I was longing for my family to be where I was and see what I was seeing. Estivan had been calling to me and had been begging me to paint him for a few days at this point. He sits along on a hill and is surrounded by character, mystery, and intrigue. As I set up my easel that morning nothing could have predicted the fire that would be lit as a result of this day. I took out my paints and decided to paint for my family back home. The hills were so soft and feminine. They were a lavender hue that can only be seen in person. I decided that day to paint how I saw them and MY response to what I was seeing. “Make me a postcard” That is what art is. Telling someone who isn’t there, what it’s like. Estivan is a smart little tree. “Include the colors you feel and help the people feel the emotion you have had while standing here in the sun and wind.”
I finally understood why I was there. I had something to share with the loved ones back home. AND I had the means to say it. I was informed on that day that I had a point of view that no one else had. No one else could explain how I felt at that moment. The task was mine and mine alone to document that tree and those hills. I developed a need standing there in the heat. I needed to make art for me. Before this moment in time art was a hobby, a challenge to execute a task, an assignment to fulfill. I threw away my value of other’s opinions and decided to walk down a road where I would gather memories for myself and my loved ones. And I would say things I needed to say, regardless if I had ears of an audience to hear my thoughts. I threw away my cares of other's opinions that moment and vaulted them into the wind as confetti at a celebration of freedom.
I realized that day, on that hill in NM, with my friend, what real art is. Art is telling the world your point of view, how we feel and what we see, what inspires us. No one else can dictate these revelations for us. It’s the artist’s job, yours and yours alone to communicate to the world your view point. I believe that the ones that “make it” in the art world are the ones who develop an intense need to chase with veracity the image in their mind. It becomes an unsatisfied hunger to document what you see and how you feel. The successful artist embarks on a personal journey. You capture your feelings in the hope that maybe it will help others that are in the same place that you are. You document your experiences in the hope to connect to this world that we live in and with the people we love. This is what the true artist is.
I hope that through this capturing of thought that you are able to glean some helpful insight that might help you with your "art" whatever that might be.
Soon we shall catch up with our heroine and continue on the journey with our most beloved Fruit... Mango.
Until next time...
