I had a hard time accepting that I was an 'artist.'
I had a hard time believing I was an “artist.”
I worked in management positions in the hospitality industry for most of my life. And I always loved my job. Until I found my ‘art.’
Like most artist, I’ve always been creative. But the thought of being an ‘artist’ never really entered my mind. Until I met Laura, an intuitive friend. She tried very hard to convince me that my future was in art. She convinced me to draw, write, and paint. Whatever. Try anything artistic. And then throw it away. It had something to do with ‘overcoming my fear.’ I did this, glad to throw the stuff away because it was horrible!
At the same time, another intuitive friend was telling me the very same thing. They didn’t know each other. Harrison made vague references to seeing me in front of small groups, mostly women. He seemed to think I was teaching or leading them. And he had visions of me ‘picking up rocks, somewhere out west.’ Well, at the time, that didn’t make a bit of sense!
But again, I tried. I kept trying to draw and to paint. I bought instruction books. I tried charcoals, I tried chalks. Acrylics and oils. And I became more frustrated than ever.
After not seeing Harrison for several months, we ran across each other on the city sidewalks. Of course, he asked (with a smirk on his cute face), “So. How’s it going with your art?”
I smirked right back and said, “Ha, you tell me, since you seem to know so much.”
He looked me in the eye with an intense stare and replied, “Ok, I will tell you. I will tell you that your whole future is in a box in your bedroom closet. Literally. In a box in your closet.”
I sighed and said, “Harrison, the only thing in that closet is a box of paints and brushes, chalks and charcoals. I know what you believe, but trust me. I’m not a painter.”
He had this confused look on his face. “A painter? Who said you’re a painter? I’ll tell you now, you’re not a painter!”
Well, damn.
He said, “You’ve not found it yet, but you will. You have to keep searching.”
So a few days later I stopped by the art store. And walked around. And walked around. Waiting for some big epiphany. I came across a book on polymer clay beads. Hmmm, looked kinda cool. Inexpensive. So, OK, what the heck, I thought. I bought some clay supplies, pigment powders and the book.
The next thing I knew, I had spent an entire weekend playing with this cool stuff. I’d made beads; necklaces and earrings. I had covered boxes and candlesticks. The kitchen in my little apartment looked like a bomb had gone off. I was in some kind of frenzied daze. Did I even remember to eat today?
My son and Laura tapped on the front door of my apartment, and my son used his key to come in. Before they even closed the door, and before Laura could even see me, I heard her whisper in awe, “She’s found it.” She came running around the corner into my kitchen, grabbed me and we both started jumping up and down and squealing like 14 year olds. I don’t do that!
So, I began my journey with jewelry that I made with my own clay beads. People began to ask if they could order ‘that in pink, or one in blue.’ I was having a blast.
I partnered with another clay artist and we began doing art shows together. We were surprisingly successful. Everyone started to mention that I should think about doing this stuff full-time. It was exciting to think about, but I guess I was secretly afraid. I kept mumbling, “Maybe soon.”
Then I found wire wrapped jewelry in a little rock shop while on a trip to Gatlinburg, TN. I convinced the retired wire artist to teach me. She said she would only agree if ‘I was serious’, and would spend an entire week with her. I took a vacation, rented a hotel room, dipped into my savings and spent 6 days, 9 hours a day with her.
Yes! Now I was really into this ‘art’ thing.
Well. You know … when you don’t do what you’re ‘supposed’ to do … sometimes you get picked up and plunked there.
My show partner, with no warning, suddenly quit her job in a fit of corporate indignation. Now she was ready to go full-time into art shows. Hmmm. Not me. “Maybe soon,” I muttered again. She warned me that I better get ready. She was booking shows. And she did. For almost every weekend.
Within a week after learning the wire wrapping, I came home and was told our company had sold our hotel. “But don’t worry,” they said. “We can transfer you to one of our other properties. Maybe Amelia Island. Or Savannah. Or Atlanta.” Any of these would mean relocating. My family convinced me to give up my apartment and move back home and try doing this full time. Besides, we had a full schedule of shows booked, thanks to my full-time partner.
I guess I finally had the confidence to believe that I was an artist. Finally confident enough to consider juried art shows and high-end galleries. I began teaching jewelry classes regionally and created and sold art and jewelry full time for over 8 years.
I relocated in 2006 to take care of a close family member who had become critical
