Impressionist, Expressionist, Bauhaus, Abstract, Figurative Abstract, Cubism, Realism, Dadaism…schism-wizzem… I could do exercises to l-o-o-s-e-n up… Or I could be more squinched up and detail (read OCD) oriented…I could dress in wispy Bohemian garb (I already do!) or I could button my shirt all the way to the top and frown at everyone like Egon Schiele… I can March to my inner drum, or dream to my inner harpsichord…IT IS UP TO ME!
. No matter how old I get, the tapes still play… “Why don’t you paint nice pictures?” “Why don’t you try painting from real life”? Why don’t you make greeting cards and get a job at Hallmark?
. Each word stinging like a hard cold rain on my artistic parade… The people whose voices belonged to those words are all dead and buried, but that acid rain still falls on my 56 year-old skin at times. Burned into my memory like a brand that says: YOU ARE NOT A REAL ARTIST, SUSAN!!!”
NOT A REAL ARTIST…REAL ARTIST…REAL…ARTIST…THE FILM FINISHES, THE END OF THE ROLL FLAPPING AROUND THE PROJECTER LIKE AN OLD GRANNY CLICKING HER TONGUE IN DISAPPROVAL…
. Yes I AM A REAL ARTIST ! I shout into the empty room. Look, just LOOK AT ALL MY ARTWORK! LOOK AT MY RIBBONS, MY CHECKBOOK, LOOK AT THESE PICTURES- it’s all proof… isn’t it? .
Funny. It’s like when my Dad, in his Dementia, said to a Curator at a Show I was in,
” Oh yes, they are wonderful. You know my brother Joe painted them. HE WAS SO GOOD…”
. Sigh… Ah, well…It really IS ok now, I can paint however I want, or even not at all…I am alright with myself today.