Creative memories

I grew up with a lot of self doubt and low self esteem. This lack of confidence did not lend itself to my recognizing that I am a creative person. I enjoyed drawing, that wasn’t the issue. It’s in realizing and being comfortable saying “I am an artist.”

I overthink things, and in my own mind, I magnify my faults and failures.

When I say I am a painter, it means I paint. When I say I am an artist, it means I express myself through art. I don’t have to compare myself or my work to anyone else.

I can’t remember a moment of decision or epiphany when I knew that this is what I wanted to do. From an early age, it was just something I did. It was who I was… my identity.

There were no other artists in my immediate family, although I was very impressed by my brother’s illustrations of fish. I didn’t do well in school as a child, so my parents encouraged my art, either because they thought I had some talent, or because I didn’t show promise in another area.

My earliest creative memories are drawing with crayons in the basement while my mother ironed.

There was a black and white tv in the basement, and mom was watching Walter Cronkite on the news one day. I thought he could see me, and so when mom wasn’t looking, I made faces at him. He didn’t respond.

To draw, I guess you need spatial awareness and dexterity. To be an artist, I think you need imagination to express your ideas or emotions through any of the many artistic mediums.

We all have emotions and ideas, and most people have a certain amount of dexterity. Expression is the trait that makes an artist.

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