It’s hard to know where to being with this post. There’s a large part of me that is trying to get me not to write it. How do you describe what is almost a rebellion against my own desire to be an artist? An urge to bury my creativity? An anger against the very concept of whether I am an artist?
Why should I feel this way? Why am I struggling so hard to conquer that feeling? I’m not alone I know – it does seem true that being an artist also involves a hefty chunk of angst, uncertainty, denial and confusion. I am just one of many expressing these thoughts, and that in itself is one of the reasons, I think, that I am questioning my intention of creating art.
Who am I to think I’m special? Who am I to know what to do and how to achieve it?
Let’s face the truth here, I suck at social media and networking. I am a recluse, an introvert. It’s not an affectation, it’s who I am. I have a blog, I have a Facebook page, I have a website, but I don’t have the ability to push it out there and make myself known. My peacock feathers are my artworks… they are not the rest of me. The rest of me is hidden in a quiet, bland and un-noteworthy shell. Just as I like it.
And if my art is my display, then it is flawed, for it does not fit into the local market, and I lack the ability to kick my way into other markets elsewhere, even if they would welcome me…
And so I question where I stand at present… After all if I am not really made for notoriety and success with galleries and punters and all the rest, then what am I doing? For I keep trying to make series and works that will be shown as exhibitions. I heed the advice of gallery curators, critics and my own mentors – who tell me what not to keep working on and what makes fine art and where I should stretch myself. They define what is “play” and what is “true” uniqueness. They shove me into corners where apparently only I will live, struggling to be an individual in the face of all those other poor buggers also stuck in their corners, trying to be individuals. Rather than reaching into my soul to pull out what is there I am sanctioned only to allow the emergence of what is “original”. When it seems that these other authorities are the keepers of the definition of what it actually means to be “original”.
But what does that make me? Surely then I am not “myself” the artist, I am “them” the artist.
So here I stand in the middle of uncharted nowhere – do I just go off and make a career with money and nice job title or do I keep going? It used to be that I would shoot and play around and edit for hours and days and feel happy and if not satisfied, then would not think that the time had been wasted or lost to me forever. Do I push and shove and try and pummel myself into an artistic creation that belongs to other people – which maybe one day the world will say “She is truly gifted, what a talent” or do I say, no I am who I am, I do what I do, and I create what I create?
It seems to me, that that is the only true answer. And so here I go, giving it a try, returning to my roots – playing with the camera and props and bits of nature and whatever I can find. Seeing what the hell comes out of Photoshop when I set my crazy mind to it!
I hope that you enjoy this journey with me – I hope that the works which will appear hear in the future are beautiful and meaningful and true to me, and that in being all those things, they still inspire you… If you want pure photography, if you don’t like digital imagery, if you are a purist, you probably want to look away now.
Here are the first of those images – made from the detritus of the fierce storms that lashed us last weekend, the leavings of the garden so drenched and windswept…
All Are Fragile
The Root of All Stems
Universe in the Curls of a Leaf
Against the Autumn Windstorm I Will Hold
Delivered on the Storm
From the Stem of Winter