Wednesday, February 01, 2006

On Doing Art.

The business of being an artist seems to be something I just can't escape. It is fraught with all sorts of problematic, teen-angsty problems.

On the one hand, I know I can do it, and do it well when I put my mind to it. On the other hand, I hate it-- hate how people react to artists-- a mixture of love and hate. You can tell people are a bit jealous, and yet they think it's so easy. They think doing art is like eating chocolate or something, an activity that is purely pleasure and not much use. And I hate the attention it gets; you can't be very anonymous....and then there is that awful, horrid part of me that wants adulation...ugh! For many people the word artist means useless. The worst part is I'm not sure that I don't believe this myself, and I ought to know better.

It is not safe to be an artist. Sin is everywhere in it!

I'm having a hard time trusting God with all this. There is that in me that refuses to believe that I could possibly be doing what God wishes, and that He will provide for the living of my life if I will just obey Him. Surely the world does not need pictures from me.

In the past few weeks I've been arriving at the office at the Vet School, where I am laboring to learn PhotoShop (which I loathe....doing art with a computer?? Ugh!) and wondering what the deuce I am playing at. Why am I doing this? It all seems so ridiculous. Go home, Eleanor, and do the laundry and clean the bathrooms, fer goodnessakes. Don't pretend to be what you are not.

And then there is this voice way down deep inside of me, saying, don't cash it in yet. Wait and see what's in store. I'm giving you another chance, but you have to persevere. Patience, child.

And so I pick up my paintbrush, and address the classroom still life that looks like a jumble of garage junk...and I forget about everything else but the colors, the shapes and the shadows. O God, I am confused. Why am I doing this?


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