I know of no one, in their heart of hearts, who has contemplated and then become an artist without also experiencing trepidation. My own experience included a knock-out dragged-out intellectual fight between my left and right brains with one side saying, ”Are You NUTS! – An ARTIST? We have children to feed. How will we live!?” I abated all of that noisy chatter and became an artist believing wholeheartedly that, if I put my left brain to it after my right brain had spent time being creative, regardless of how much fear I experienced, I would succeed. That was 1998. I had made a deal with my native brother that we would follow our dreams. We would become what we were supposed to do in this life despite our anxiety around doing so. His: To become a native healer. Mine: To become an artist. He died in 2005 in the midst of studying to do exactly that.
The truth is, he was a healer regardless if he studied and I was an artist regardless of whether or not I picked up a brush. It is what you are inside. It is the thing you must actively do to realize why you are here. It is the thing that will ultimately make you sick emotionally or physically if you deny it or throw you into being in-sync with the universe when you embrace it.
Since 1998, when I picked up a brush again and put brush to canvas – I have experienced the birth of my granddaughters (all 4 of them!). One of them, came to live with me following all the drama and emotional disaster that a drug-addiction can bring to a family. I learned and came to grips with my daughter’s drug addiction to heroin and cocaine discovering just how little control one has to assist those we love. It was an emotional roller-coaster that only settled out a few years ago.
When I give myself a hard time for not being farther ahead in my career years after that fateful decision to become an artist, I realize that my life needed a major overhaul before there was the foundation to be the artist I was. I have been to Family Court (protecting a small child around custody and visitation - I won), Small Claims Court (defending myself against a “friend’s” unfair monetary exploitation – I won), Provincial Court (accident settlement – I won) and Supreme Court (relationship demise and fight over ownership of property – lawyers won). To make room for my art, I needed to stand up and be counted which, ultimately, meant I needed to “legally” fight for the space and right to create my art.
I did finally arrive into this space that allowed me to be an artist. Since 2009, I have been able to focus on my work. I have produced approximately 125 pieces of work. I have sold many. I have had many exhibitions. People know my name. People know my work. Others stop me on the street to chat about this piece or that or to remark on some part of my artist statement or to tell me how an exhibition a year ago, or so, still resonates in their lives. I have representation for my work and like every artist out there, I continue to cultivate more. I know my art. I know why I do art. To me art is language. No, I am not one of those artists who equate it to breathing. I can and have survived without making art in my life. I am not as happy as when I am making art. But if an earthquake happened today, I would not perish ‘cause I couldn’t paint. What art-making is for me is communicating: the same or better than talking.
They say that non-verbal language is about 80% of how we communicate. Well painting and writing – that is my 80%. Without it – I am silenced. With it – the world is my oyster.
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