Who gets to be an artist?
I walk into the small, charming art supply store for probably the third or fourth time in as many months. Each of the times before, I left empty-handed. This time I find myself asking aloud before I can stop myself: “Excuse me? If a person [me] wanted to start with watercolors, what would you get?”
She helpfully shows me a few kinds of paper, brushes, and color palettes. Perfectly placed, so pristine and intimidating.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about art and artists. Who gets to call themselves an artist. Who gets to make that capital A Art, the kind that matters.
The soft part of me knows in her heart of hearts that we are all creative. That what we do matters — every single one of us.
The inner critic says yeah, but not you.
It’s mean, that critic.
I think of the projects I’ve started but never finished, tools carelessly discarded or, worse, left unopened and wasting away in some drawer or closet. The life-draining drudgery of not tidying up. I think of the time I bought that sewing machine even though I don’t know how to sew. Or the knitting needles, or the jewelry making supplies, or, yes, even watercolors.
What does it feel like, to not finish? To quit? To fail?
It feels like shame. I’m ashamed because that’s not who I am — I am a person who does what I say I’m going to do. It’s important to me.
What does shame feel like?
It feels like the ache in your gut when you know you’ve done something wrong. It feels heavy. It makes me feel small.
What would it be like to let that go?
I sit up taller just thinking about it— it would feel like an unburdening. It will feel light.
What would you go back and say to your younger self if you could?
Girl! So you don’t like to sew! No big deal. Give that thing to a friend. Sell it. Whatever. Just don’t let it stop you from showing up and making. Don’t let it stop you from being who you are.
So I decide it’s time to forgive myself. To forgive myself for quitting, for not being good, for wasting money, and most of all for letting it stop me from creating.
You know what? It feels really good. You’re welcome to join me here, in this place of forgiveness.
I let myself buy those watercolors.
A year or so ago I changed my bio here on Medium to say Writer, and to say it first before anything else. It was aspirational, without a doubt. And then life went and gave me something real to write about, something it mattered to share. So I wrote. So I’m a writer.
Who are you when you give yourself permission to create?
If you’re interested in exploring your relationship with creativity, come do #The100DayProject with me and my friend Elle. It’s a commitment to 100 days of making and sharing your process on Instagram. But really, it’s a commitment to yourself. To your inner artist.
