Dot B. the other day asked me how one becomes an artist and not just becomes one, but feels like an artist. This is an interesting and a hard question. We talked about it for a few minutes, but were unable to reach any quick conclusions. But I have been giving it some thought since then.

I think artists are born. I think there is a peculiar make up inside a person that says ARTIST or NOTARTIST. But saying that, I also know that everyone I know has some art within her.

It's like being a novelist. I can write a whole sentence (and not everyone can). I like writing whole sentences and paragraphs. I can string together words to write short essays and personal vignettes, but I am not in it for the long haul. I don't believe that I can write a novel, let alone a series of novels. I can write the odd little poem and am very pleased with my odd little poems. But ten odd little poems does not make me a poet. I scratch around the borders of being an artist with words. But I am not. I do not have the drive and ambition in that direction.

I am however an artist. I know it in my bones and down into my reptile brain. I was born an artist, but was a late bloomer. I am proficient in a couple or three mediums of art. It is what I do. It is the first thing I think of when a person asks me what I do. I do art.

But this does not mean that other people who do not think of themselves as artists cannot turn out works of art. Remember my poems?

A better question to ask is: what is an artist? An artist is a person who sees pieces of the world, pieces of reality, pieces of her own reality and interprets them for viewers. An artist sees what non-artists do not. An artist is a bridge between reality and the mind.

Wheels

Photo printed on cotton with stitches for emphasis.

One of my first works consciously as an artist

Pieces are broken off me
Slowly I crumble
Parts scatter



Slowly I crumble
I look up as I fall

19 March 04




I hear the rain;
The sky weeps.
Mold blooms on the wall,
Mud-lovely world.

23 February 05