I Think I Might Be an Artist

I've been fortunate in my life to have been acquainted with a number of painters, including my sister. As a result, instead of scouring the Ballard Designs catalog or Pier One for reprints of real art to hang on my wall, I've been able to acquire, either free or at low cost to me, lots of great original paintings and other artwork done in interesting media. I get a lot of compliments on the artwork in my house and the only downside is when someone asks, "Are you an artist?" At that point, I have to say, "No. I just appreciate original art" or "No, my sister and some of my friends are." Over the years, when I've thought of all the talents that are handed out to individuals, I really wish that I had the gift of creating beautiful visual art, but, until recently, all I've felt I was gifted with were the abilities to hang art in just the right spot or paint a wall just the right color to show it off. Now, I'm starting to rethink my feelings about my abilities.

Now, I'm not a millionaire and much of my life, I've struggled along without much money, so you might be wondering how I ended up with this nice collection of original art. After all, artists need to make a living and can't just stand around handing people their work for nothing. That would be taking the notion of starving artist to the extreme. The answer to this is what I call "Acute Artistic Embarassment Syndrome." Every artist I've known, bar none, seems to have this syndrome, which causes them to loath and feel ashamed of their earlier work. When one of the artists I'm closest to surveys some of the paintings she's given me over the years, her mental cringing when she surveys it is palpable. It's true that she continues to grow as an artist and you can see how she's refined her technique and style over the years, but her early works are still awesome and I'm proud to own them.

Another artist I know had this syndrome to the extreme: When she decided to concentrate her considerable talents on making ceramic jewelry, she told me that she was going to burn all her paintings because she couldn't bear the sight of them. To me, this seemed like a criminal act, so I asked her if we could have some of the paintings she was planning to burn, and she gave us a bunch. My ex got custody of most of them in our divorce, which was a pity because I loved all of them, but I got my two favorites: one is the picture of a gladiola in a vase in front of an open window and the other is a picture of the fields that surround the N.C. Children's home, which is practically in downtown Winston-Salem and includes barns and a cows. That is one of my favorite places in my home-town and I feel intense pleasure when I see it.

Yet another artist I know was not as extreme as Children's-Home-Painter, but she had a tendency to start giving away her earlier works whenever her artistic path led her to a new medium. She said she felt guilty trying to sell work in a medium she would never work with again, so I was the beneficiary of much of her work whenever she changed media. (It also helped that I agreed to model for her in the nude, including when I was pregnant.)

I've also read biographies of artists that suffered from this syndrome. Modrian is the artist I remember suffering the most from this, but I think that Picasso and Monet also had it and so did others. I can't remember this for certain because it's been a long time since I read anything about Monet and Picasso.

I'm not sure what causes this syndrome. It's the complete opposite of what a lot of people do, which is long for times past rather than be ashamed of them. Maybe it's akin to that feeling that you have when you remember something you did as a child that was embarassing and you wish you hadn't done it, even if it helped you become a better person. Or, I feel it sometimes when I look over the few diaries I've kept and cringe at the teenager that wrote such things. On the other hand, when I read poetry that I wrote as a teenager, I rarely fail to be impressed with what once flew out of my so lyrically--I've lost that ability now and cannot write poetry like I used to. Now, I can only write silly birthday poems for friends--the angst and pain I felt as a teenager and poured into my work just isn't there anymore and, apparently, without that, I can't be a poet.

Last week, something happened to me and it made me think that I might have this syndrome. In my previous blog entry, I shamelessly self-promoted a website that I designed for one of my clients. I basked in the comments I got that it was a great website (my clients absolutely love it) and beamed when one person told me I was really talented. Well, since that website went live, I've started working on another one. And in my mind, the one I'm working on now, is so slick and so cool, that it blows the earlier one away. Now, when I show someone the earlier website, I'm ashamed of it. It looks blah and simple to me now. And probably, once this latest one goes live, I'll hate it, too, as I work on the next one.

So, if I have this syndrome, doesn't it follow that there might be an artist deep down inside me? I'd like to think so. Call me self-delusional, if you must, but I still think there's something to this.

(P.S. For those of you who are wondering, about three hours after I wrote my "Shameless Self-Promotion" entry, my company was actually the third result of a Google search for "Flexi-Word." Hmm....maybe Google saw my sycophantic raving about how useful Google is for me and decided to reward me? Okay, okay, now I am being self-delusional.)