You've always wanted to create.
You felt you had an artistic side that was never allowed to see the light of day.
You had so many ideas you didn't know what to do with. You were bursting at the seams.
But you had to deal with the grind. You woke up, went to work or school, came home, slept, and did it all again. And again.
Was there time to be an artist?
You weren't sure, but you had to try.
You found a little time here and there. Sometimes on the weekend, sometimes after work. Or maybe before work. It wasn't about money--you just wanted to do it for the love of painting or drawing or writing.
Maybe you set up a corner in your house with your supplies; easel, paints, pastels, drawing table, or writing desk. When you went out, your bag was full because you carried your sketchbook everywhere you went.
You got into a groove.
You looked forward to that special time with your muse. Maybe you made some tea or coffee. Turned on your favorite music. You connected to the spirits of creativity and couldn't believe it was 4 am when you finally, covered in paint and exhilarated, put down your paint brush.
Sometimes your went to school or work exhausted, but it was worth it.
You found some "real" artists on social media. Their work was admirable. They had opinions about how to do art the right way. You must:
• Fill a sketchbook every month.
• Draw at least two hours a day.
• Take a class. Or two. Or three.
• Sign up for social groups with other artists.
• Write 2,000 words a day.
• Join Instagram, Facebook, and the social media site formerly known as Twitter
• Start a blog and record everything you do for YouTube.
• Have a gallery show within a year or else...
...you're not really an artist.
These suggestions can be important and helpful individually, but the world wide web dumps everything on us at once. Sometimes it's hard to know where to start and with what.
So you followed and felt inspired...kinda.
By default you made some friends in the art world.
You shared manuscripts or critiqued one another's art.
You started a few projects.
And then your friend got a publishing deal. Or a gallery show.
And you were over it.
Well--maybe not completely over it, but dread crept into the scenario. You felt a tap, tap, tap on your shoulder and the little voices began to ask...is this what you really what you really want to do with your time?
Suddenly you don't want to be an artist at all.
The magic vanished, and it was replaced with anxiety.
So you ghosted your practice.
And it felt great.
You didn't feel guilty about not meeting the important art milestones social media had imposed. You got more sleep. And you were happy to see the friends and family that you had been neglecting because of your hobby.
You didn't want to even look at the painting you started. Or read your partially completed manuscript. You worked so hard on them! But it felt rebellious to ignore them...like homework you got away without doing.
You had brunch at the cafe, talked on the phone until your battery died, and admired your neat(ish) house.
A few weeks later you found yourself watching Seinfeld reruns and shopping on Amazon. Your artist's voice spoke to you again and asked why watching television was better than your art. Leave me alone! you thought. I'm calm.I'm relaxing! But as you walked past your art supplies or laptop, you felt a little tug at your creative heart.
But it was a tiny little yank--and it was easily ignored.
You didn't get an agent. Or a gallery show. Your friend did.
(Even though she'd been practicing her craft for the past 20 years, you disregarded that logic for the time being.)
And you continued to ignore your calling for a few more weeks--or maybe months. You also ignored the gurus.
And you felt renewed...
...except for the fact that you desperately missed drawing. Or painting, writing, or sculpting.
So you started again--but this time you ignored the voices that made you feel less...they didn't do it on purpose after all.
This time you take it slow.
You take your time and you get better at your art at your pace. You get better because you can't help but improve if you keep going.
One day you finish your first portrait or manuscript or drawing.
It's not perfect, but it's yours, and it's done.
And you can't wait to start the next one.
Just know that you'll probably hit a wall somewhere along the line in your art journey--and it's fine. In fact--you'll hit many. It's okay to stop and start again. You're not a failure. Take your time and enjoy every minute...even the imperfect moments.
Listen to your muse...she's talking to you.
XO
(That voice that pulls you away from your destiny, according to Steven Pressfield, is called resistance.
Read more about this amazing and terrible force in THE WAR OF ART.
And get creating.)
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