One does not become an artist overnight. It takes work, patience, dedication, and passion. For example, painting. Many people believe that a painting can always be finished in one sitting. I learned over the years that sometimes that won’t yield a masterpiece. Hence, patience. Sometimes it takes months, years even, to finish. We are not finished with a painting until it is finished with us. Dedication. You must often step back and see clearly where your work is taking you. If you are not passionate about your work, it often goes unfinished.
When I was in the fourth grade, I spent my Thursday afternoons in a studio above a frame shop learning to create art, striving to be the artist I so desperately wished to become. The beginning was so frustrating. On paper, nothing looked at all like it did inside my head. I kept pushing, trying to be a Realist. Apparently, that is the kind of artist I clearly was not. I was frequently angry with myself, yet Thursday remained my favorite day of the week.
One day, there was an art exhibit. All of my fellow artists and I participated. I won second place for a sculpture of a mermaid, and someone bought my drawing of a dog for $12. I browsed the exhibit and saw many other works of art. This was a very special day. I was drawn to a particular painting. It was Abstract. My eyes were finally opened as I realized that art did not necessarily have to look real. It can flow through you, picking up your emotions and carrying you to a place far away. You can lose control in this space devoid of any other soul, with no sound other than the beating of your heart and the blank canvas awaiting instructions.
I offered the artist my $12 in exchange for the painting, and she told me I could have it for free. It was the first piece of artwork I had ever owned created by another artist. That painting introduced me to a whole new world of art, and I have never looked back. I could finally paint the feelings inside myself instead of recreating a bowl of fruit.
The painting hangs on the wall in my living room. It serves as a reminder of the discovery I stumbled upon. This was the beginning.
Filling rough drafts with bright colors comes naturally to me. I prefer to be alone while I paint, with no distractions. When I step back to read my paintings, I discover how I am feeling. I realize the state of being I was experiencing while the paintbrush led the way. I find pieces of myself, and am truly in touch with my soul. Over the years, I interpret and discover different emotions, characters, and colors I had not noticed in paintings I created long ago. My paintings are alive, and continue to live throughout my life.
I did not realize until it was noticed by my psychiatrist, that I associate feelings, objects, numbers, and everything else with colors. The number thirteen is blue. Tuesday is yellow. Wednesday is green. When my slumber is interrupted abruptly, my brain feels covered by a yellow film surrounding a red headache. It never occurred to me until pointed out; I have been coloring my feelings. That has been the case all throughout my life. Perhaps those colorful feelings are the reason I am swimming in an artistic pool of creativity. I have strayed from the studio above the frame shop, though I know that is where it all began. Sometimes frustration leads to practice. Practice does not always make perfect, but you have to start somewhere. Follow the paintbrush.
–SJB