Here I am, trying on a new name for size. Everyday artist – so many things about it I don’t like; the immediate conclusions people might jump to put me off. ‘Everyday’ equals mundane? No. It means that every day, every minute really, offers an opportunity for us all to create and experience and be. Life is rich, if we choose to engage with it.
’Artist’ equals paintings, turpentine splattered overalls, a weird white hat tipped jauntily over my head? No. Artists are writers, painters, people with hands wet from clay. It also means people who are excelling in their field – and not just because they are good, but because they keep fucking up and go on trying anyway. It’s messy and real and scary. It’s hard to engage all-the-way with struggle, with joy, with waiting.
So my feelings about this name – about the twentieth I tried – are mixed. Just like my feelings about most things. Certain analytical theories would say this makes me healthy. I think they are right, but sometimes I think it would be nice to feel something was absolutely, intrinsically perfect.
Tags: creativity
