itiz.art
As I look around my room, I see a paint-splattered floor. I look at the chair, the paint has seeped into the grain of the wood. My shirt has remnants of some paint as well. My studio is my bedroom, and my bedroom is my studio. I sleep, think, and live through my work. My cabinets are not filled with books; instead, they’re brimming with paint, pens, and paper. My artwork covers the walls. My desk, just another container for my extensive art supplies portfolio. My art is my Life, and My Life is my art. Being inspired by the world around me continually fuels my creativity. I thought that being able to transpose something so dear to me, such as a place or a feeling in a visual way, was an untapped market.
Real work comes one on one. I always do my best work when I feel connected to the person or the piece.
“What makes you happy?”
That is my target. I aim to put the feeling, place, or idea the viewer holds so dear into a not only physical but also emotional representation. I have been painting for people from the Bay Area to the East Coast, all the way down to Florida. Doing art for work is different; I have found that maintaining my artistic freedom and satisfying the customer is a fragile line. Critiques in class are changeable; it is easy making alterations to a canvas, but painting on clothes with fabric paint is not. Each piece is a risk, one spill, one wrong stroke could make an unhappy customer, and my reputation is my job.
Pouring paint onto my pallet, I have one brush in hand and one fixated between my teeth so as to not let it rest on the freshly cleaned surface. I switch the brush between my thumb and forefinger to my index and second to suspend my motion. I pause to think before I press record on the camera. The red button lights up and I started painting; I pour the paint onto the fabric — the colors mix and blend. And bleed. My heart skips. There was too much water in the paint. The sweatshirt is ruined. I can’t help but worry.
It’s different doing art for profit. I thought about the deadline, loss of profit and time, instead of the art. Learning curves such as these are part of operating a business. Planning for mistakes and customers’ wants and needs. I must plan ahead and think of the next new thing if I want to continue to sell. Now I am saying no to most orders. My commissioned art has slowed, but my creativity has not, and I will forever treasure this outlet. True art takes time. I sit in my studio, my bedroom, enjoying my art to the same extent, always looking for my art to serve a different purpose.
