I M Perfect lady

I was in a discussion last week with a few artists, and we were talking about doing art; but not Art that would be for sale.

 

I always had this impression that if you did art – the next logical step was to sell Art.

Especially when you did fabulous art.

That doing art would lead to selling art and teaching art.

That the circle of art, when done well, would lead to selling art.

And, some may even believe you are not an artist, until you sell your art.

 

What never occurred to me was that many do art for personal reasons.

It isn't for others, it is something they choose, to add to their lives.

They do so for reasons we can't know.

Art is an additive to their lives.

It brings them something.

 

Art is a land without many rules.

How then did I place so many rules upon it?

 

Art began for me as therapy, and often still is.

 

The pull to the basement and fabric was like a drug.

A calm down drug.

An anti-anxiety drug.

The place where I found the essence of myself.

The lone self – that wasn't tied to anyone and our complicated relationships.

 

Art found Me.

 

The me I was before I joined others.

 

I can see how it would be easy to escape life by being immersed in Art.

And, not really deal  with the choices you have made or failed to make.

I can understand how you could live almost split lives.

Where one is happy and free in their art – and the other is trapped into a life out of control.

Unable or unwilling to course correct, when relationships are toxic.

 

Art for me walked with me as I made course corrections so that the self in Art, and the self in life, both had freedoms.  

My life became like my art, where I had choices.  Where, when with whom, and if I went and if I didn't go. What I said or what I didn't say.  Boundaries and choices created a life I wanted to be in – not one I want to escape.

 

Yesterday I looked at my brother's art and my father's.

Art's legacy is in our family.

It flows through generations.

Wood solidness carved.

Changed.

The simple, and the intricate.

 

It is funny, in a peculiar way, how wood carving was the modality used.

Taking something solid and changing it.

 

I was young when I got these carved hearts from my father.

I cherished them – at the time. A clue to my unawareness.

I think the hearts and spoons were the only gift I ever received from him.

 

They made it from the shelves and into a box.  Now what?  I don't know. 

 

These were the only two things I wanted from my parents and my childhood home.

The plates were my mothers.  

Are the best parts of them in their art and what they cherish.

Is that the best part of me; my Art???

Do we all put ourselves in our art?

More to explore with art and the artist, and what the things we chose to keep or discard.