STARVING ARTIST SYNDROME

I walked through Salt Lake City the other day, freezing cold, with nothing but a slice of pizza in my stomach. The pizza had mangoes on it. And the pizza place was the kind that allows people to draw anything you want to on the walls. Walker had dug two sharpies out of his pocket. We went back and forth adding to the same drawing until we had something that resembled a bird, a  mouse, and a baseball diamond, all in one. As we walked down the street he told me about the career center he has been visiting, where he took a test to tell him what he was interested in. The result was, he is interested in almost everything. 

Me: "That career center sounds fun. Maybe I'll try it."

Walker: "Easy for you, chances are it will tell you should be an artist. Perfect. That's already your plan."

Me: "To be honest with you, I am pretty terrified to be an art major."

I mean, I didn't even send in an AP art portfolio, I got too overwhelmed, too bored, changed my mind too many times, and bailed last minute. And then promptly signed up to do essentially the same thing for four years, hopefully ending in a degree. 

I started out as an English major. I thought that would be easiest. I can bang out papers on demand in the blink of an eye. I can write off prompts, I can write without prompts. Award winning. Published by age 11. 35 on the English section of the ACT, and I would have happily argued why my incorrect answer could be correct. And not to mention, being a writer was my main big childhood dream. After I found out how much math astronomers need to know, and after I stopped following politics as closely as I did at age 9. I applied as an English major because I thought that would be easiest. Until I remembered that I didn't feel a burning desire for any of the jobs made for English majors. Even being a teacher. Even though I know exactly what art I would have hung on the walls of my classroom. 

Exactly what art I would have hung. I wanted to be an art major. It scares me to death. But in my first December of university, I half jumped down the stairs of my adviser's building, holding a paper with all the needed signatures to agree with me -- I would be much happier as an art student. And when I got nervous I could always smooth over the fears with my own reminder -- technically a graphic design student. 

Graphic Design. I can design with prompts, I can design without prompts. I tell myself that when the next 3 and half years are looming over me.  What is scary about being a design major? Deadlines, assignments, direction, critiques, comparison. The fear that I am not as good at art as I am at recognizing other people's good art. As good as I am at faking being good at art. 

And maybe that it true. Right now. But it doesn't have to be true forever. 

Why am I still an art student? Because 10 minutes ago I saw a photo of the most beautiful art supplies store I have ever seen, and if just seeing art supplies makes me that excited, than I would be stupid not to keep going. Every time I find a new collage artist, or buy a new perfect notebook, or see a color that makes me feel something, I remember that I was made to be art and make art. And everyday I am working on believing that even my mistakes do not ruin the perfection of a new notebook, they make it better. My newest mantra: EVEN MY CRAPPY ART IS ART AND I CAN STILL LOVE IT. And my art career will not be a repeat of (nor be defined by) my experience in my last high school art class. And I will find the art in my head and heart and fingertips and elbows that people need to see. That I need to see. 

PROJECT VULNERABILITY

alternate title: how I plan on dealing with depression

I feel somewhat depressed again today. I wonder that changed. Because, last week was the best full week (emotionally) that I have had in almost a year. I'm trying to think of what changed ... I did start watching more films. But some were inspiring, and some helped me feel even more. Sopping wet crying over a Wes Anderson, yes, but I felt something. I could stop watching films, but part of me suspects that is part of what I need -- to chase feeling. I hate this dullness of depression. Yes, the emotions can be scary. But gray will always be scarier. So even if a couple of sad films, and whatever else, make my depression act up, isn't it worth getting a good cry? I used to love a good healthy cry, because they were just that, healthy. Before I got so caught up in what is healthy and what's not and I forgot to just feel it all. Maybe I need to recognize that, technically,  even depression is an emotion that I am attempting to sweep under the rug. Calling it names and saying it's not real enough. It might not be good for me to call all my most present emotions unreal and insist on only recognizing the ones on either side. Depression is not no man's land. If I am to insist on feeling, I must feel the depression itself. And now that I am realizing the hypocrisy I have played into with Depression, I can see the other emotions I have been treating the same way -- love, attraction. I think I am going to take more time to just sit and feel whatever emotion is present right then, instead of trying to change it. And then I am going to paint them, every emotion, in all their ugly middle school photo glory. And I am not going to throw them away.

I think this is what my mother was trying to explain to me last weekend.


I Feel it All // Feist