I find artist’s statements and resumes, introductions in general, off putting. They tend to be either boring or snooty. A list of past jobs doesn’t really tell me anything about you. Accomplishments don’t tell me what you were like when you did them.

If we are introducing ourselves, of course we want to put our best foot forward… we want to present the best version of ourselves that we can.

I like to say I am an artist and writer. These are things I do, and things I am passionate about. They are a process rather than a laurel, and then if you ask, I can show you or tell you what I’ve accomplished.

I prefer to meet someone by my bonfire pit, and then discover their talents along the way.

I still have to write artist’s statements. Mine don’t usually include where I studied or where I am employed. I am happy to share this information.

You don’t need a diploma or degree to be interesting and relevant. Not everyone is defined by their job. Not everyone needs a job at all. You’re valid either way.

I believe that creativity comes naturally to people. Acting on that creativity does not. That’s why not everyone is an artist. I think you have to be willing to do things poorly so that you can learn to do it well. You have to be willing to be misunderstood. Expressing your creativity through art is a skill that has to be developed, or at least embraced. This goes way beyond painting. Every failed attempt is a lesson. When you learn another way not to do something, you’re one step closer to finding your right way.

I tend to be very critical of the me I was in the past. Thirty years ago. Forty years ago. I see my old self as closed minded, insecure and uninteresting.

My brother suggested that I forgive my former self and learn to accept him for what he was and the conditions that he was in.

Yes, my mind has opened some, but it can still open further. I heard a warning years ago “We must keep an open mind, but not so open that our brains fall out.”

I want my mind to open that far, and discover that it’s attached. Keeping your mind closed for fear of losing something tells me that your mind is made up and you’re not willing to learn or adapt.

I want to expose myself to things I may have never considered before. And I don’t want to stop there. I want to keep pushing against those doorstops and sticky hinges. I don’t want to have my mind made up. I don’t want all the answers. The things that ring true for me will stick until they don’t. They’re refrigerator magnets. Thoughts can be updated or replaced.

I don’t believe everything I hear.

What if you held so tightly to Bronze Age ideas that you closed your mind to modern science?

I’m not really sure what mainstream society is. Some people might like to think that white American sensibility is mainstream. Maybe the most commercial (whatever sells the most) is mainstream. If you can buy it on a clearance table at the mall or hang it on any hotel room wall.

It’s hard for me to imagine that appealing to anyone. I think a lot of people find it acceptable. I dont want my art to be acceptable.

The mainstream I’m interested in is my own stream of consciousness.

I’m not trying to be unique, I’m trying to be authentic.

I believe that if I can tell a story that truly means something to me, it will resonate with viewers. That stream runs through all of us, and has been running through many generations before flowing through me.

Lately I’ve been looking at old photographs that I brought home from my parents’ shed last summer. The first album I picked up contained pictures of my great great grandparents, and may have been glued to the fragile black pages by my great great grandmother a hundred years ago. I think it was my great grandmother who assembled it, because there are many more pictures of that generation.

In a stack of six albums, there are pictures of my grandparents as young teenagers and pictures of my father as a little child. My parents’ wedding, and even pictures of me.

Turning the pages led from my great great grandfather to me.

We’re not that different. They took pictures of their cars, their houses and the pumpkins from their gardens. Just like me.

I wish I could talk to them. I wish they could have known that I would stare into the image of their eyes looking for a similarity. A family resemblance.

And then I remember that I am here because of them. Their DNA is in me, and I can see them in my mirror.

(My father’s mother’s parents)

Being creative is not unique, but what we do with it can be unique. I believe we are all creative, it’s just that we are not all confident.

We need to learn how to use the tools that we possess. The most important way to learn to draw is by drawing. The best way to develop confidence, I believe, is by taking risks. When we step outside of our comfort zone, our circle expands to include that new thing. Unfamiliar experiences can be intimidating! We tend to stick with what is comfortable.

Learning a new skill is usually frustrating at first. We don’t know what we are doing yet. Progress is slow in the beginning. That’s because we’re rewiring a part of our brain, not simply learning a language, building a wall or learning to throw pots. It gets easier with practice.

To get into a creative state of mind, I have to pick up a pen or paintbrush. You can’t steer a parked car, and you can’t develop eye-hand coordination without using your eye and hand.

To be truly creative… to create something that illustrates your own personal story, I think it needs to come from within you. It’s less creative to look to others for your motivation.

We are all inspired by what we see, whether that is a natural landscape or a piece of art made by someone else. When something inspires us, it gets absorbed into, and becomes part of us. If it comes back out, or influences what comes out again, it will have mixed with what was in there, and appear with our distinct flavor.

Our eye is the scanner. Our brain is the hard drive. Our memories are the database. Our imagination is the software to put it all together. Our hand is the printer.

My creative process benefits me in many ways. It helps me to process my life, and express it back out again. It is something that I enjoy, and something that helps to ease financial pressure.

My creative goal is to do exactly what I am doing now. It focuses my mind to make sense of my experiences.

I gauge the success of any piece by the lesson or amount of joy it brings me.

I had the most horrible, wonderful day.

I spent most of the day driving. It was the end of a dream and the end of a nightmare.

I got out of an abusive relationship that was taking a physical and emotional toll on me and my son.

It was pointed out to me the other day that we were trained to only tell the stories that end in “success”.

It’s true. Whether we are filling out a resume, a dating profile, or just talking to someone in private or at a party, we put our best foot forward. Of course, not all of our experiences work out the way we hoped. Even the successes came about with setbacks and self doubt. Once we achieve a certain degree of accomplishment, it’s easy to forget the excursions that just didn’t work. Everything we attempt is on a continuum, and all of those stories have value.

I worked hard in nursing school, not only because I was determined, but because I was afraid I would fail. I studied and panicked. I read and reread chapters. I tried to overachieve, not for honors, not to be the student speaker at commencement, but because I was afraid of what dismal failure might lurk in a coming week or semester grade.

All this time, I thought I was exemplifying study skills for my daughter who was in high school. I think the effect was actually the opposite of what I intended. Perhaps I intimidated her, or maybe she just didn’t have what I had at stake.

I was driven by my fear of failure.

I’m proud of what I accomplished, and I overcame a lot of unkind beliefs about myself in the process. I had gone back to college at age 50, and embarked on a new career. I’m at an age where I don’t want to try so hard anymore. I have to be humble and realize that I can’t save the world. I don’t need to go to extraordinary measures to improve my life.

Once again, I am guilty of trying… of trying too hard. I think about things a lot. More and more, getting what I thought I wanted turns out to be a curse. I research things before I dive into them. Relationships. Relocating. Growing my family. Maybe I don’t research enough, or I think I can make my life better or help someone else. I try. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, and sometimes the failure is epic.

For three months, I have been trapped in an extremely uncomfortable and at times dangerous situation. It ended today. Prior to three months ago, I thought I was busy. I thought I was anxious. I thought my house was messy. I didn’t realize how good I had it. Why do I need to learn things the hard way?

It was not ideal… not a success. We are damaged, and now we begin to regroup and heal.

It’s hard to be happy when lives have been traumatized. I thought I would feel giddy when I finally got to this point, but the best I can feel is relieved. I want to lock all my doors, pull all the window shades down and scrub every inch of my house.

I had no support. When I told caseworkers I was in crisis, they said “thanks for hanging in there, Tim!” Maybe that was meant to encourage, but it made me realize I was all alone. I pleaded for help, and they suggested I call the police.

I’m standing in the aftermath, and I will recover. I’m still looking for the gifts. Sometimes they are hard to see. A few years ago, I came away from a situation knowing better. That was all I could glean from it. I felt such contentment when it was over, and that is what I am hoping for again.

You never know what anyone else is going through. Outward appearances can be deceiving. Don’t envy anyone, and don’t make assumptions about their lives. Please remember to put your own oxygen mask on before assisting others.

I have dabbled in a lot of artistic mediums over the years, and am primarily known for my acrylic paintings. If I had to choose another medium, I’d go with pottery. I’ve barely dipped my toes into ceramics, but I can already imagine what I would like to create, if I am ever able to spend time working at it.

Clay appeals to me because it is both beautiful and functional. It is made from the earth and dates back to ancient times.

When I make a pot, I can draw on the wet clay, and my drawing could be preserved for thousands of years. Hundreds of thousands of years.

My art could outlast the Human race, and maybe be found by alien archaeologists trying to figure out how we managed to destroy our planet.

They might marvel at my restraint in not smoothing out every surface. They might see my fingerprints in the clay and thus connect with the ancient earthling that I would then be.

They might envision the earth I depicted, where fish swam in the treetops.

They might wonder about me, as I am now wondering about them, and we will have made a connection.

Life’s transitions are not always easy. Perhaps they are rarely easy. That’s the nature of transition. It’s a change, and it’s most comfortable to continue what we are doing, or remain in our current state.

Even in a ‘bad’ long term relationship, we have our routines, and it can be a lot of work to end it. It can be daunting to contemplate sweeping changes. It’s a lot of work to pick up the pieces and rebuild.

What price would we pay for happiness? Or even the chance of happiness? Or the removal of a source of unhappiness?

Making a change to the exclusion of another person may make us feel bad, but the only thing we were guilty of was trying.

You know how gurus tell us to live in the present moment, with no past and no future? They seem to think that is the path to bliss. It isn’t. In fact, it’s a stupid idea.

I have been living with someone who tends to live only in the present moment. They don’t remember crucial conversations that will impact their future, and the only thoughts they seem to have of the future are delusions.

Our past gives us context. Our future gives us a reason to work at anything.

We do live in the present moment anyway. The past we remember only unfolded as the present, and the future is only present moments that are coming. Life isn’t actually a timeline, though it is easy to think of it as one.

Why be on a highway at all if you didn’t know where you had been and didn’t care where you were going?

Don’t forget your history.

Don’t neglect your future. You will need it one day.

There’s more to life than putting X’s through the grid of a calendar. Float above it and maybe you’ll see that the tightrope line you thought you were traveling was actually a sea of brushstrokes spreading out in every direction.

You can explore and make sense of it if you allow yourself to remember. You can shift your perspective and extrapolate meaning, forgive without forgetting, and chart your trajectory, all from this present moment.

I can’t see my finished artwork before I start it, just like I can’t see my finished life before I live it.

I often have a pretty good idea what it will look like, but that is only if things go to plan. I can stick with a plan, and paint a forest scene or whatever is in my mind, but I can also change my mind along the way. I might say I’m going to walk to town, and then see an inviting trail along a creek, and change my direction.

One time, I was all set to go to college in Arkansas, and then one day I suddenly changed my mind and went to one in Michigan. I already had my dorm assignment, and some of my friends were going, but they went without me.

Plans change for a variety of reasons. Something compelling and unexpected might lure me. I get caught in the gravitational pull of something else.

Maybe I just change my mind because plan A wasn’t working out.

Most things can be undone.

I do a lot of things, and many of them are creative. That doing inspires me. If I grab hold of that moving paintbrush, the inspiration is just there. The images trickle down my arm and onto the paper or canvas. If there is not a picture in the queue, then any brushstroke can inspire the next one. Sometimes I ask a brushstroke to look like a walrus, sometimes I don’t ask it to look like anything but a brushstroke.

I put messages in my work. Sometimes the message is “this is a painting.”

I have many themes that recur in my art. I reiterate them, but each time, they come out differently. I change from one project to the next. No two sunsets, no two bonfires, snowflakes, roses or paintings are exactly alike.

The messages are sometimes clear, and sometimes cryptic. I’ve been staring at an abstract painting that hangs next to my bed, and I keep seeing more and more in it.

Seeing is a process that I can’t rush.

I fall asleep in one painting, and wake up in another, even though the colors and shapes have not changed.

I don’t remember wanting to be creative, or deciding to be an artist. I think your consciousness sort of grows as your brain develops. The lines are blurred, and to realize anything is to realize that it’s already happened, or started happening a while back.

I must have been very young when I first held a crayon, and touched it to some paper. I don’t remember. I must have liked it, because I kept doing it.

By the time I realized that I wanted to do it, I suppose, I was already doing it. I liked it better than I liked other things. More than math or spelling.

I think creative people get comfortable with art the way other kids got comfortable with numbers or labeling maps. People in all fields are creative, even if they are not all artists. Creative scientists discover new truths about the universe, or develop new medications or procedures.

Creative people pay attention.

People who are not creative kind of live on the surface, watching movies made by creative people, and following trends rather than being innovative. Maybe they look at the work of creative people and say to each other “imagine doing that.”

I’m not trying to be exclusive or judgmental. I’m not saying everyone should be artists. Everything I have experienced influences what I create. This includes training, but I don’t believe training is necessary in order to create art.

I believe we’re all creative in our own way. We’re enough as we are. We also have the ability to learn new skills, especially if there is a reward in it.

For me, the reward is in telling my story through words and pictures. I acknowledge and validate myself, and in the process, I gain new insight and forgiveness.