Nurture — Day 3

Day 3 Prompt: “Share a story about a time when you felt like giving up on a dream, but didn’t. How did you find the strength to keep going?”

I’ve given up on many dreams over my life. When I was a pre-teen, I imagined myself becoming a concert pianist, accomplished artist, math professor, nurse, archaeologist, or stage actor. As I entered my teens, I realized the vast majority of those weren’t “good fits” for me for a variety of reasons. Chief among them was that I was “encouraged” to concentrate on interests that could guarantee a well-paying job as an adult. That meant the math prof was put at the top of the list—not by me—so that I could concentrate on math subjects throughout high-school. I still love math, but I clearly remember, as a late teen, having a vision of what my future would be; it bored and scared the crap out of me. A lifetime spent pursuing Math, while no doubt interesting in a theoretical way, would have just isolated me more than I already did. I spent my 20s concentrating on turning my love of math into something that I could work in; I landed on bookkeeping and accounting.

By the age of 28, I was completely and utterly…disgusted and turned off by that career path. The disgust came from realizing that accounting, as a career, always has the potential to be used as cover for corporate lies; there was no way I was going to engage in that. I also realized that advancing to becoming a professional accountant would likely result in the same…malaise…that I had envisioned as a math prof.

Then, I became #PWD disabled—all bets were off (temporarily) as to whether I’d even have a future. Dreaming of something wondrous to do with my life was something that I couldn’t afford to engage in. But…in 2020, while the world began to circle the drain, I was…taken captive…by a desire to return to art. I hadn’t so much as picked up a pencil to sketch something in over a decade. But, out of nowhere, I decided that I would take up creating art again and see where it took me. Hence, describing the experience as “taken captive”; I seemed to be completely at the urgings of this new desire.

Since then, in early 2020, not a week has gone by when I don’t seriously question my decision to pursue art creation as more than a hobby. While my skills have improved (dramatically) and I have had some feedback on my work, very little of that has been translated into something actionable. I constantly find myself falling into the trap of letting others define how I go about creating art. As much as I’d like to say that creating art for it’s own sake is enough…it isn’t. Not for me. Art creation—for good art that can be marketable—is not cheap. The reality is that managing this website costs $$ that has to come out of my very tiny Art Supplies budget; I’m on a limited income.

It can be completely demoralizing to put all this effort into something, only to have it not result in any substantial interest in my art. I say “it can be demoralizing” when the truth is that it IS DEMORALIZING afresh for me each time that I check the stats (no longer daily) for this site. I’ve had to resist the temptation to let those stats rule how I proceed. So…instead of letting the fear, frustration, and doubt overwhelm me, I, instead remember that shy, bespectacled pre-teen that I was. He saw the potential of being a professional artist, he didn’t question his art, he didn’t concern himself with whether he could sell it. He created art because he had to. I must honour who he was, because he is still very much with me. I don’t know that I’d characterize my decisions as coming from a place of “strength” so much as I’d have to say that I’m obstinate.

In some ways, it helps to have an inner voice that echoes much of the negative feedback I received growing up. I certainly don’t enjoy the echoes, but they do give me an opportunity to argue (and scream) against them in a way that I was unable to do back then. I’m able to advocate for myself now; therefore, I do so.

So…in the end, as I get nearer to the age of 60, I re-affirm my absolute disinterest in doing what others would have me do. I create art because I must. Not doing so would be akin to not eating (for me). Art feeds me, it feeds my younger selves, it salves wounds (old and new), it heals me in a way that I can’t describe.

Is that “strength”? I really don’t know.

I do know that my way of determining purpose may not be others’ ways. As always, I look forward to any comments you, Gentle Reader, may have for me.

Be well,

Gryph