I'm embarrassed to admit something. Publicly. So out there and uncovered. But I'll say it because there isn't a reason to hide and I figure there may be people who feel like me. Maybe. So here is it goes...
There were (okay...okay...there are) days when the only thing I want to be is Artistic. Yes, a captital letter because it's a noun in my mind; a person, a place, a thing. Artistic in a way that I can look at my images and think I made some impression, left some dent, in the art world. There are times when I find someone else's images and they leave me breathless in a swimming-at-the-bottom-of-a-pool kind of way. Deep, aching breaths. And I know I'm no where near that level of oxygen deprivation.
There are moments I battle with myself because I don't know if I'll ever have that thing in me. That thing that feels like black-rimmed glasses, clove cigarettes, and oil splatters on a canvas. The thing that tastes like duck pâté and whiskey.
But then. And this is a pretty big BUT. But then I'm reminded (usually by JD) that talent is nothing without ambition...and the smallest bit of talent can be carried on the wings of sheer desire and hard work. Sure, it's not as glamorous as leaving someone breathless, but it's enough to make people happy. And the satisfaction of happiness is the salve I pour on my insecurity, making me stronger in the process.
I'll continue to work so one day I might feel like the noun I aspire to, but until then I am content sipping on a cocktail of ambition, drive, and the audacity of dreams.