In recent months, I have had the audacity to call myself an artist. Name it; claim it. As involved as I have become, I have noticed that everyone and they mamma think that they are artists. And some really, truly are gifted artists. They have skills developed over time. What remains is a glut of self-described artists. People who take classes and follow instructions because teachers abound all over the city.
First an foremost, I believe art making begins with a passion, or maybe a notion, or an urging to create something. In my case, I have been turning pencil and charcoal drawings into paintings. I add a little color, and voilà! A painting emerges.
Encouragement comes from my daughter, and friends, and newcomers. From painting, I have begun to create collages. So I think my collages are more intriguing. Less exacting. My philosophy on art-making via painting is that approximation is acceptable. Precision may be another aspect or another talent, but I’m pleased with my approximations. But my approximations must compete for wall space and gallery space, and that is the artist’s conundrum. Finally, my dictum is: Art is manipulation and eventual mastery of materials, meaning, method, medium, and message.
I am a teacher, author/poet, art maker.
I am a dreamer and schemer.
I am a procrastinator.
I try to rationalize my spirituality.