What is Creation without Magic?  Mere craft? Decoration? Assembly?

When I was a teenager, I’ll never forgive my art teacher for breaking my concept of art.  To be fair to him, it was all in the best intentions.  And it wasn’t all his fault.  I didn’t have to listen.

I had many flaws in my concentration, execution, and follow through.  I feel like there were plenty of characteristics he could have harped on that would have had a better impact.  But that’s my viewing myself through the lens of what has ended up causing me the most issues.

Instead, what he decided was going to hold back my art career was a message.  I lacked a clear message to communicate through my art, at least according to him.  I was frivolous, carefree.  I would paint with abandon, draw dragons and grim reapers.  Kid stuff, to be sure.

I asked to be in the private instruction class in senior year.  He said I would have to finish a large oil painting that “Represented my vision of my future.”  I wrestled with that for weeks, sketching and coming up with no ideas.

My consistent inability to come up with visual representations of verbal prompts convinced me that I was “Not a real artist.”  It has been a journey of years to convince myself that visual communication doesn’t need a text counterpart. 

Now, many people do great with prompts.  Many people stare at the blank page and I’ve been there, with my pencil wandering, looking for something to communicate.  I’ve illustrated scenes from my favorite books.  I’ve drawn fanfic.  But not often.

Usually I paint things just to see if I can.  To challenge myself.  To create something that no one else would see, to show a window into my eyes.  Tapping into that imagination and making it a reality has been the goal of my years of practice my entire life.  From the first time I picked up a crayon.

It is vulnerable.  It is brave.  I never draw or paint without a clear goal.  Whether to sharpen my skills, play with the limitations of the materials, or see how close I can get to my mind’s eye.  I am so glad I discovered that this is a form of communication just as valid as any other.

What else defines an artist besides the drive to create and be seen? 

I would show up to class and draw my classmates to see how bright I could get their eyes.  I would sketch crumpled cans to see how close I could get the reflections.  I would paint anywhere I would rather be.  That might not change the world, but it makes art, just as valid as any other.

This past year I’ve painted more than I ever have in my life.  I’ve expanded my skills, I’ve learned so much, I’m making things I only liked on instagram last January.  I love these paintings.  Any painting that turns out even somewhat the way I’d hoped, I love.

Since I love these paintings, I’ve been hanging them on the walls.  My walls are slowly becoming a gallery of little paintings that taught me something, represent something special, show my growth.  Not one of them was done for any reason besides love and seeing them brings me joy.

They are becoming better, more detailed, less childish.  But not all of them.  I still love a good portrait.  I’m not all one thing, and my art doesn’t have a singular theme, color, goal or medium.  But it does have something I don’t see very often. 

In Big Magic, Liz Gilbert talked about ideas and inspiration and magic.  There is a difference in the method of creation between painting and writing.  But in all creation, the viewer can feel the magic.  If there was an idea, a spark of light, a bit of glorious inspiration, that piece will shine.

However, there is a market for art that does not attract the eye.  Just as an instruction manual does not require magic, neither does a painting that fulfills the requirements for a hotel room or dental office.  Hobby Lobby sells mass produced pieces and professional artists must compete.

I do not spend my time making paintings.  I spend my time painting.  I have sold paintings, but I am not a professional artist.  I sell my time programming, not painting.  May it never come to that, because painting is something that brings me such pure joy, it is far too precious to buy my meals. 

If I had to paint a commission every day, I would create products.  If I had to fulfill parameters, I would be limiting my imagination.  I would be creating the thing the buyer wanted to see, saying the thing they wanted to hear.  There is no magic in that.  There can’t be.

The thing that spurred all this was realizing that the problem with most of the paintings I see is this cold craftsmanship.  The quintessential tropical motif of the palm tree in front of the beach can show the hand of the artist, with a bit of magic and salt air, or it can be washed out for mass production.

I understand people desiring perfection.  Photorealism is pure evidence of skill.  Adhering to well worn motifs makes marketing easy.  No one can argue with a photograph.  It is invulnerable.  Creation is an inherently insecure act, and perfection is armor.

I cannot identify, personally, though.  I do not seek perfection, I only seek to win.  The qualifications for winning are my own, set within my own mind.  No one else will ever have the same relationship with a painting that I will.

I look through my photographs, I remember the beauty of the moment, and I relax.  I set paint to paper and I meditate, thinking as little as possible.  I paint until it is completed or I am exhausted, for it is exhausting.  Sometimes I lose, but usually I can salvage any mistakes.

Sometimes I take pictures mid-process.  Sometimes I’ll set aside pictures for months.  For a while I tried videotaping myself, but I was entirely blind to the camera, forgetting to start and stop the recording.  I am single minded in my attentions.

I show people the finished work.  Most people barely look.  Sometimes they say positive things.  Less commonly they say ambivalent things.  I smile regardless.  I don’t need the attention, I don’t need validation or support or reassurance.  I barely notice their response.  But I am compelled.

Sometimes I wonder why I show people.  Sometimes people are embarrassed for me, showing something so vulnerable as my own art.  Usually if it’s something silly or not very “polished.”  I laugh at their surprise and show them the next thing I do anyway. 

I just feel like art needs to be seen.  If it’s not displayed, shown, experienced, it doesn’t exist.  It’s like this blog, full of thoughts.  I want to show my art because I am a real artist.  I have so much to communicate.  It’s just not something I can reduce to a title or a tweet or a blurb.

I wonder if the people honing their craft, the people who don’t hang up their paintings, the people that hide their paintings in the closet until they have one that’s perfect, I wonder what they would make if they were brave.  I wonder what paintings don’t make the cut. 

My first day of art class as an adult, I introduced myself and said I would like to make get some good paintings from class.  My teacher warned me that the classwork would be theory, test paintings, showing concepts that could be taken home and put it “finished work.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.  I don’t ever intend to make anything I don’t love.  I’ve made a few beautiful paintings from that class, that have been hung on the wall, just like any other painting.  Tests, lessons and playing can be conduits for magic, just like any other subject.

But I understand my classmates don’t feel the same way about their art that I do.  Some of them are scared of failing, frustrated by their progress, caught up in the craft.  I don’t think many of them have framed any paintings done in class. It was a safe enough bet for my teacher.

It just sounded like the same perspective from my other art teachers, that there were qualifications for “real art.”  Some art was higher, worthy, and meant more than other art.  Well, to me, art that is made of love and I have a shining idea for it’s creation is real art.  And I can do that anytime.