Obviously I need to get out.
I beg my mom to put me in art. I never took an art class in my life. But every day I would pass the bulletin board in the hall that featured all the art work students were working on in class. I was intrigued.
My mom finally agreed. I had no idea what was coming my way.
In that 9th grade art class I found a fire in me. I was always creative and quirky. I loved writing poems and stories. Many times I would dress up in character of the book I was currently reading. I probably re decorated my room 5 times a year.
But I had no idea what feelings could be produce by mixing paints. I got my first Walmart brush set and started painting. It was like gas was finally running through my creative mind. I began to notice colors in nature and think about how I could mix that exact color with my paints. I looked at pictures differently. I became fascinated with faces and how to draw them.
Then high school came. Ah, what ART did for my troubled teenage soul then. It was my OUT. Water color became my main medium. Once I walked into the comfort of my art classroom, I was HOME. There was so many things to inspire me in room 1215. The Beatles constantly played. A million art supplies for my use and disposal. The students in class were my kind of people. My art teacher, Mr. Loveland, was the best teacher I ever had. I understood what he was trying to create in that classroom.
If you asked me in high school what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have told you an artist or interior designer. I didn't become either.
College was no longer fun high school art class. Paints were expensive and I was barely managing to afford ramen noodles. My professor was strict and told me all the things I was doing wrong. I guess I didn't like critique.
But I found other mediums and creative outlets in college. Crafting, cooking. Magical, magical sewing. Thank goodness I found you my dear sewing... Gosh, my own apartment became my medium. I got to re decorate every 9 months, at the beginning of each new semester.
But I've always felt guilty that I didn't go into art. I teach. And I love it. And I am creative with it I hope.
As of now, I have decided that you dont have to pursue ART as a career in order to get that "artist title". It's still my blessed outlet and a source of happiness. I worked at a gallery/art museum all through college where I was gleefully surrounded by it. I lived in New York where art and inspiration became everything around me. Not just the most amazing museums on earth (Guggenheim and the Met was right by where I lived people!) but the graffiti and the awesome architecture, the food and the energy.
So as some sort of conclusion for my own sake... Art does not have to be only the mixing of colors with my paint brush. It can be making a pillow, going to the thrift store and creating something beautiful out of junk, or even home made macaroni and cheese.
I'm going to be bold and call myself an artist.
My medium?
My students, my fabric, my clothes, my hair, my ingredients, my paper, my lap top, my craft box, my journal. Sometimes I even get out my old paints.
My canvas?
My life.
Taken from Pinterest
