When I was a little girl, I hated reading. I loved when my mom read me Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss, but I guess I was too frustrated or lazy to venture into that world on my own. I remember my mom signed me up for class when I was about seven or eight.
The book we read was the Frog and the Toad. I don’t remember specifics about the book now. I remember their funny outfits and scarves and that one of them was very grumpy. I’m not sure why that was the book that did it for me but since that class I love reading. And writing.
Some of my favorite authors are Diana Wynne Jones, Victoria Hanley, Jane Austen, Andrew Davidson, Lemony Snicket, Alan Watts, and the list goes on.
I used to mostly like fantasy with female protagonists. I liked to escape into those worlds. Now, I’ve gravitated toward philosophy, mythology, and art.
I’ve always had a fascination for fine arts. Especially visual arts. My grandmother is an artist and has dabbled in various forms of creation. I grew up loving the impressionists. Renoir, Manet, Morisot, Cassat, Degas, etc. I knew from the ripe age of eleven that I wanted to be a portrait painter.
So, I took all AP art classes in high school. Got my BFA in Painting from Texas State University, and like most college graduates in this climate, I’m not so sure of myself anymore.
This new-found self-doubt has driven me more and more towards poetry. I’ve been writing since around the same age as art found me. I’ve had several poems published here and there in college magazines and newspapers. I’ve always been torn between my two passions for the visual and written art forms.
Need I be torn? Couldn’t I find a way to utilize both talents? Those seem to be the questions looming above like so many crows. In the current art scene which most artists will tell you they know little about, visual art is becoming increasingly interdisciplinary. I’ve considered basing visual works off of poems and vice versa.
More and more I’m thinking about my latest manuscript more so than my latest commission. In words I feel solid. Confident. I can create a painting with words. Even in that confidence though, I feel like a sham. Like by having varied interests I’m shirking my responsibilities to each one.
My friend, who is also a writer told me the other day when I voiced this concern,
“I don’t think you’re a real artist unless you doubt you’re a real artist.”
I’m paraphrasing, but the sentiment stuck with me. Whenever I feel fraudulent in my goals or projects, I remind myself that if I were too confident I wouldn’t be growing from my creations.
This blog’s purpose is to be that voice in my head. I do not intend to post poems, but quotes, insights, discoveries that inspire me.
I don’t expect anyone to be interested in the ramblings of a talented, yet unsuccessful young artist anymore than I expect people to listen to their grandparents’ rehashing of “the good ol days.” However, should you be interested, please let me know so it will keep me dedicated to this task.
If you are interested in reading the poetry of an un-penned poet, I post my work to: http://www.webook.com/project/Stumbled-Upon-Truths
“You fail only if you stop writing.” - Ray Bradbury