What Am I Doing Here?
“What am I dong here?” Now there’s a question I’ve begged over the years. Not only me, but people who have glimpsed my art work. When I introduce strangers to what I do with art, I am welcomed with enthusiasm and excitement, then confusion, then “What are you doing here?”
It still stings when the question is asked. For example, this morning when I show a classmate my portfolio, she, unbeknownst to how often it happens, followed the above routine to the letter. I guess my skin is getting thicker, I wasn’t haunted by the incident nor was I wounded by the question. Sure, I’m writing here, but that’s just me relaying an old quirk to an old friend.
Internally, I was rather calm when I asked myself the question afterwards. I was as surprised by the rapidness of my response as I was the honesty. My answer: I’m just not ready.
When I reflect on the thing’s I’ve done, made a book, become well versed in art, developed some writing ability, designed a warm webpage, survived all there years on a pauper’s payroll; evidently, there’s some talent there and a handful of smarts. Emotionally, though, emotionally I don’t know. Have you ever heard that old saying where having the desire to be mature is a sign of immaturity? . . . Let’s all agree to have me drawing more
Meanwhile, it turns out I do have some ambition in me. If I’m not mistaken, it was not long ago when I was lamenting not having the gusto on to up my station in life. Turns out I’m wrong on that account.
Turns out I want to draw more. Not only that, I want to show more. I have a decent handful of drawings already made and now, now I want to make more. I’ve been shopping shows, having dirty fantasies of earning a living as an artist rather than struggling as one. I conjure schemes of how to fund myself to place another bet at the gambling table. I feel as though I can win, I’ve got a system now.
A little sardonic there, I’m aware. I assure you, I’m all smiles. Even if they are wry.