On becoming an Artist: Part 2

This is part two of a mini series where I tell the story about my “becoming” an artist. If you read part 1 then you would be aware that the idea of becoming an artist is complicated, at least I think so.

Some might say I was born this way, a gift from God. Others might say I became an artist when I started selling my own work, or maybe when my work started showing at galleries.

I think that the becoming of an artist isn’t in what you make, or your successes, but in the way you see the world. Maybe some are, in fact, born with this skill. Others, however, discover the ability to “see” later in life. Either way, it’s the passion and desire to learn and grow and expand that I believe is the true gift.

With this, we can do almost anything.

My story is what has shaped me, it is the foundation of The Who, not the why or the how or the what.

This part of the story is a bit dark and includes trauma and abuse. If you are triggered by these things, I do warn you, maybe skip this part and wait for part 3 (it’s much, much happier!)

Anyway, here it is…

How I became an artist: Part 2

I learned so much in highschool while sitting in the art room, despite never taking art class. Well, a fine art class I guess.

I did take ceramic and photography, and I think those classes really helped me learn to navigate my senses as a maker. I was also in A.P. English because I loved to read and write. All three of these classes really paved the way for me as an artist. Photography helped shape my eyes and the way I see, pottery helped grow my ability to feel, to create texture and even to approach my painting as a sort of Sculpture. Writing helped me to express what I couldn’t talk about, it was the magic that brought everything together.

I still do both photography and pottery, but as hobbies, although I will occasionally sell some small sculptures from time to time. I write every single day, it is very important to me.

After high school I continued to study pottery, I took two more ceramic classes at my community college.

I also took art history (which I dropped out of) and a drawing class, which I failed.

I was so bored of academia, I dropped out of college after 2 years and decided to travel Instead.

I was an adventurer, and a bit of a hippy. Ceramics, drawing, and photography all took a backseat as I grew older. However, My writing and poetry grew stronger as I embraced literacy instead of fine art. I read books by authors like Jack Kerouac and Bukowski. I dreamt of living free from society, becoming someone of a vagrant.

I moved around a lot, working and writing and exploring.

This time of my life there wasn’t much art, I didn’t paint, and I rarely drew. I continued to write every single day, so many journals filled with poetry and gibberish, which I actually still have. Honestly, half the time was a blur. Although I don’t pride myself on in this, I was suffering from depression, trauma, and anxiety and what would later be diagnosed as a mood-disorder and ADHD. There was a lot of drinking in this time and drug use.

Trigger warning:

In my senior year of highschool I was sexually assaulted from out-of-towners who gave me a date-rape drug. This incident, along with heartbreak and grief from losing my grandmother, caused me to attempt to take my own life. I am grateful that I am still here today, and thinking of that time truly hurts, yet it was pivotal in my artistic career.

What I experienced opened me up, forcing me to navigate raw emotional depth. I was able to persevere through writing. It was poetry and journalling that truly saved my life.

I was raped again, one year later, and was completely cast out by my “friends” (it was a friend that actually did it). I was named called, hate texts and voicemails calling me horrible names, and those whom I once trusted completely abandoned me.

I am not telling you this because I need your pity, I have been going to therapy and have experienced great healing, even finding my faith and joy in Jesus in my mid-twenties.

I also don’t think that an artist needs to experience trauma to be a great artist, this is just my own story of becoming. Unfortunately, these incidents played a part in who I am today, which is why I felt the need to tell you.

After the second time it happened was when I decided to live my dream and travel the world, it’s what pushed me out of my small town and into possibilities.

I lived all over, working seasonal jobs and walking through opened doors and embracing opportunity.

Eventually, I even started drawing again.

Then, after years of travel, I moved back home, reluctantly. It was because of this move that I met my future husband.

And it’s because of him that I am the Artist I am today. It is because of his part of the story that I became a painter, and why I continue to evolve, grow, and heal as an Artist.

Part 3 coming soon…