To Live A Life In Art

My dad liked to talk. I have no idea how many times he called me and just talked while I listened. 20 minutes or so later, he might have realized that he hadn't yet asked me one question. By this time I was always a bit on the dazed side and couldn't think of a thing to contribute. Even though he is gone now, I still worry that he probably thought I was a bit boring. Today I am remembering a conversation we had that was a slight departure from the norm.

We were talking about the creative projects we had been working on. At the time, I was painting and he was thinking about pottery. I think a friend of his had gotten a kiln and was hoping to set up a small studio. I don't know why, but the imagery I have of the set up was that it was going to be on the roof of a building. Maybe the friend was a roofer. Actually, now that I think about it, that friend is a man who could only be described as Dad's brother. This man is not a roofer.

My project was going to be a combination of acrylic on canvas with different materials glued to it. It was gong to be an ocean scene with sea turtles riding on swirly waves. I think the waves were going to have glass beads glued to them with a little bit of glitter for magic.

And that's when my dad said it. I'm sure he had told me before that he was proud of me, and I know that he had told me that I was talented. And quite often that he loved me. But this one tiny statement meant more to me than anything he had ever said.

"Wow, you live your life in art."

What a compliment! The honor of it coming from him. What a scary thing to hear. I believe my father did lead a life in art, and he was crazy. And not always the good fun kind of crazy. He had an obsessive neglectful side that I wanted to have nothing to do with.

It seems as though there are two different kinds of artists. There are the ones who lead a calm and peaceful existence and then there are the ones who seem calm, but are truly insane. In public, they are slightly more guarded. Possibly more distrustful of themselves than others. With their friends, the crazy lets loose. Their public persona sells the art, the private one makes clothing for their hippie ferret colony.

My father created breathtaking pieces of art in jewelry and in his dining room he had put together an entire fossilized dinosaur. Was this also to be my fate?

I have always been drawn to creating - anything. It pretty much all sounds exciting to me. Whenever I get started with a project, I fall in love with it. Unfortunately, just as I am about to really get somewhere with it, I completely abandon it. As I am typing, clay and paint are drying out and paint brushes are slowly disintegrating in neatly stacked clear boxes in the next room.

So now I must apologize to my blog, and to whomever is reading this, for trying to abandon it. I am still very much in love with you, I guess I was just worried about having a dinosaur in the kitchen. I must keep writing, even if it's bad, even if it's good. Maybe for the first time in my life I will live in art. I guess we'll find out together what kind of artist I am.