It took me a long time to feel comfortable enough to say the words "I am an artist." How can one be considered an artist when all they do is mess around with fabric and beads and paint? Certainly I can be described as a "crafter"..... someone in the same group as a kid playing with feathers and paper plates in kindergarten. But an artist?
Artists are the elite. Artists make magic with their ideas. Artists enlighten and inspire; their work advances civilizations. The Renaissance changed society culturally, partly because the artists and sculptors of that time dared to do something different, dared to take what they were doing just one step further. The techniques and artistic concepts of today could not have evolved without such bold ideas in the area of art.
Have I ever done any of that? Have I inspired minds and nations with the stroke of my brush? Have I even made an impact on those around me with what I've created? Am I ever worthy of the title Artist?
Art is a concept, an idea, a movement. A huge waste of time from the perspective of the hunters and gatherers of the world. But dreamers are just as important to the human tribe. Dreamers bring about change and new ideas. What the dreamers create will eventually encourage the hunters and gatherers to improvise, to experiment.
I am an artist because I dream. I inspire and am inspired. I see the beauty found in the tiny details of everything around me. I find joy in taking risks and experimenting with my work. I enjoy the process as much as the finished piece. I suck up inspiring books and pictures and works of art from the world around me and I translate that into my own voice. I take the raw ingredients and I mix them around. I add a touch of magic from my own ideas and I watch what I've made evolve into something new and filled with life.
I may not come to inspire nations. I may not have a sculpture or a painting hanging in the Louvre. But I am an artist none-the-less. When I am not dreaming and creating, a piece of my heart begins to throb, so I carry my inspiring voice with me wherever I go. When I'm at work, I always have a notebook nearby to sketch ideas that come to me like lost children. I house them within the pages of my journals and they wait to be translated into real life. How can I not be an artist when it is in my blood, my soul?