Wow. I thought the proverbial 'blank page' was intimidating; a 'blank blog' is possitively daunting. Where does one start? I'm going with why I am starting a blog. That makes most sense to me...I get it all sorted out right off the bat, and you, my friend, can better decide if you want to follow along the journey.
That is what this is all about: a journey. Like every other human being on the planet, my life is a journey. Well, really it is a whole bunch of journeys all vying for my time and attention (motherhood, wife hood, bookkeeper who is mathematically challenged, new job starter possibly student we'll see, disorderly trying like heck to become organized, and perfectionistic illustrator learning to be a creative artist). It is for this last adventure that I am starting this blog, or online journal as it were.
I love making things. Always have. As a child, I was consolable with play dough, or crayons, or glueing things down in lovely patterns. I was a bit of a perfectionist, however, and somewhat talented at drawing what I saw or remembered; as I grew, that set the standard of expectation for myself as well as others. I wasn't really 'allowed' to just make a blissful mess just for the joy of it and mistakes were not an option (okay, that was more me than anyone else). I began to call art my 'cursed blessing' because it provided me absolute euphoria in the moment of creating, but afterward, when I would look upon my creation I would suffer personal torment over every perceived flaw and error in execution. That doesn't sound like much fun, and it wasn't. As a matter of fact, early in my adult years I actually stopped making art for a while. I'm not sure how long, maybe a year or so. That barren time was even worse than my constant cruel criticism and I could not help but return to art. I approached it differently than I'd left it though.
I made a bargain with myself... I was allowed to draw/paint again provided I did if for the process of creating rather than the outcome. Also, if I insisted on critiquing my work (that is how we grow as artists, after all) I had to do it more kindly and objectively: for every 'flaw' I noted I had to find something I appreciated as well. That tempered my inner demon somewhat and I was able to move forward.
Striving for an objective approach to art boosted my morale and confidence immeasurably, and eventually, via the most synchronistic set of occurances, I ended up working as a freelance illustrator (with a licensing agent and everything)! My enthusiasm for that lasted nearly 10 years, and then it began to wane. What had kept my career viable in an ever-changing market was my ability to produce whatever a client needed in just about any style they were looking for, but the sacrifice was was too great. I could mimic like crazy, but in the process I lost track of my own creative expression. So much of what I was doing was superficial and disconnected from my heart, and I'd ceased to grow. I was stagnating. I longed for a deeper relationship with my art and to give voice to something within me. So I quit.
Well, not that abruptly. More like I allowed myself to vacillate between liberating my creative soul to the vast possibilities of the unknown, and struggling to hold onto what I knew. It took time. A few years, to be sure. Like not wanting to leave a marriage you'd given so much of yourself to even though it was long over. But eventually I let go. Last year I formally released my agent and floated off on my own. I have a 'day job' now, which I like well enough. It's not the same thrill as seeing my work on home decor and party goods, but it pays well. And best of all, whatever I create now is for me, not whether it will garner an income or be approved by some faceless committee. The running joke amongst my family is that I have "quit my career as an illustrator to persue my dream of becoming an artist".
And that is what this blog is about. My journey towards the heartfelt expression of my creative being. Just for me. For my heart and soul.
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