I've been ruminating about the arts lately. About the diversity of definitions people ascribe to the word art. How it's valued or devalued. How it affects business and how business affects it. About its worth in terms that have nothing to do with money. How it impacts us as observers, and as creators.
In more personal terms, how I express myself creatively. What I want to express. How I think my work is perceived. How off I may be in that analysis. What I consider art. What I am willing to offer in exchange for it. What I am willing to sacrifice in the creation of it.
My twenties were spent pregnant, breast feeding, or recovering. Five pregnancies and four children later, I'd lost sight of my identity. I'd matured in many ways. But I'd lost sight of my creativity. I felt like I'd literally lost my mind on occasion. Now, midway through my thirties, I've discovered I'm returning to my teenage self. My self confidence is much higher. My life is much different. But my mind is much the same. And I am still highly creative. I'm picking up parts of me I set aside to bear children. I'm becoming myself again.
In those days I dreamed dreams far greater than I had the ability to attain. Today, I have far more and better developed skills. In those days I was dependent on others for information and education. Today, I know how to educate myself. I know how to pursue information and understand it. In those days I felt helpless, trudging from day to day, wondering what would come of my life. Today, I am actively cultivating skills that will allow me to accomplish what I dream of doing.
I am writing. I am painting. I am parenting. There are many creative outlets for my agile mind to pursue. The possibilities excite me. But all the external work, all the things I may produce, are seasonal. They belong to a brief space of time. They will be completed and placed in the hands of others. I've become okay with that. I don't need to hold on to my creations anymore, like a kindergartner that must see her work on the fridge to feel validated.
One day, my kids will leave home. I'll probably pack up the essentials, give the kids everything else, rent the house out, and travel the world with my husband. And I'll create. I'll write. I'll paint. I'll parent. And I'll let go of each creation in turn. I'll continue to learn and be affected by the world, and I'll have an effect on it as well.
When I leave it, friends will gather to evaluate the impact of my life. They will speak of worth in terms that have nothing to do with money. How I impacted them as observers and as partners. They will determine if my life was a finished or unfinished work, abstract or representational. A lawyer will inform my family of its monetary value. What they will get in exchange for giving me up. It will not be adequate. It never is for an art lover.
I am passionate about the things I create, and my life is my greatest work of art. This ruminating has gone on long enough. I'm going to get back to living it now.
In more personal terms, how I express myself creatively. What I want to express. How I think my work is perceived. How off I may be in that analysis. What I consider art. What I am willing to offer in exchange for it. What I am willing to sacrifice in the creation of it.
My twenties were spent pregnant, breast feeding, or recovering. Five pregnancies and four children later, I'd lost sight of my identity. I'd matured in many ways. But I'd lost sight of my creativity. I felt like I'd literally lost my mind on occasion. Now, midway through my thirties, I've discovered I'm returning to my teenage self. My self confidence is much higher. My life is much different. But my mind is much the same. And I am still highly creative. I'm picking up parts of me I set aside to bear children. I'm becoming myself again.
In those days I dreamed dreams far greater than I had the ability to attain. Today, I have far more and better developed skills. In those days I was dependent on others for information and education. Today, I know how to educate myself. I know how to pursue information and understand it. In those days I felt helpless, trudging from day to day, wondering what would come of my life. Today, I am actively cultivating skills that will allow me to accomplish what I dream of doing.
I am writing. I am painting. I am parenting. There are many creative outlets for my agile mind to pursue. The possibilities excite me. But all the external work, all the things I may produce, are seasonal. They belong to a brief space of time. They will be completed and placed in the hands of others. I've become okay with that. I don't need to hold on to my creations anymore, like a kindergartner that must see her work on the fridge to feel validated.
One day, my kids will leave home. I'll probably pack up the essentials, give the kids everything else, rent the house out, and travel the world with my husband. And I'll create. I'll write. I'll paint. I'll parent. And I'll let go of each creation in turn. I'll continue to learn and be affected by the world, and I'll have an effect on it as well.
When I leave it, friends will gather to evaluate the impact of my life. They will speak of worth in terms that have nothing to do with money. How I impacted them as observers and as partners. They will determine if my life was a finished or unfinished work, abstract or representational. A lawyer will inform my family of its monetary value. What they will get in exchange for giving me up. It will not be adequate. It never is for an art lover.
I am passionate about the things I create, and my life is my greatest work of art. This ruminating has gone on long enough. I'm going to get back to living it now.
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