Blessings from Shadows

This last week was a wild ride. Not that anything big happened, externally. No, it's more that some things happened in my head. 

My head is a strange place. I'm aware. Trying to explain it is.. I don't. Not usually. Look, I'm very aware I'm not a normal person. Actually, I kind of like that about myself. But it does make it difficult when it comes up in conversation. "I'm an artist." Them, oh, wow how cool... Me, hastily (since I had just made a gift of a sketch and didn't want to make it out to be a big deal), "I have a day job, though." Them, sweet older folks and curious, want to know what. "I'm a scientist..." And then I get "Oh, you do everything!" And meanwhile I'm trying to shift the conversation to her mother (I had just bought a sewing machine that belonged to her late mother and was being praised for being so young and interested in sewing and 'I never learned, honey, you are so talented!') Awkward. The writing didn't come up. I once had a startled moment, sitting in a restaurant, when a stranger walked in, my husband smirking in his wake, where I found myself shaking hands with a guy who had been convinced I was imaginary until he actually met me. That's not the first time I've had that happen, either. My husband, even before we were wed, tended to talk about me in such terms that his gaming group (who had known him for decades) was not entirely convinced I wasn't a tall tale. 

It's weird. I can't wrap my head around it. I just... like I told the lady I bought the sewing machine from, I'm persistent. If I want to learn something, I do. 

About 17 years ago now, I wanted to learn art professionally. In the interests of not making this into a long autobiographical blog, I'll skip ahead a decade, when I was no longer interested in art solely professionally. I came at this backwards, you see. People talk about talents, and God-given gifts, and I have neither. 

I'm stubborn. There was something I needed - not wanted, it was a need - to do. So I set about doing it the best I could do. Which meant investing time and money (mostly time) into learning the necessary skills. And then I practiced a lot. Then I did it for years as a needed thing, not something I was dabbling in, but 'we need the money to feed the children so I must do this well enough people will not only pay for it, but want me to come back again.' Which is not, I suspect, how most artists start. 

So then I lapsed from professional into dabbler. I started trying to learn the inner voice, or rather, the inner style of me. Not the popular, what sells, must learn that new design and be commercial artist I had been. What it turned me into was an insecure wreck for a long time. And I wasn't very good. I'd argue I'm still not very good, not when I compare my mental images with what I can create on paper/electrons/sculptures. But I am decidedly better. 

Which is where last week comes in. We were preparing the October budget, as you do, and looking at where the projected income was allotted to go. And I had a moment. The First Reader and I have plans and goals, and while we are living comfortably right now, which is a huge blessing all on it's own and success beyond my wildest dreams a decade ago... I realized that if we were going to be able to see some of our plans come to fruition, I had to do one of two things. I had to get a second job, or I had to make the Sanderley Studios start to earn it's keep. 

I had no idea what I was about to spark. Sunday night I was in tears over the response to my artwork. My friends and fans saw my new offerings, and swamped me (momentarily!) with orders. It was overwhelming, and wonderful, and I know it's not going to make us rich (hah!) but... but it's a rising tide that is lifting my little kayak of hope off the beach I was about to abandon it on. The people who told me how much they loved my work, and the people who bought my art and merch... they are all blessings. I was so happy and so rich with the feeling that what I'd once begun, in need, had become a source of wants. I want things. I want more than just subsistence. I want to have dreams, and goals, and I want to be able to work hard and see them come to life. The art is only a part of what is making that a reality, but I tell you... 

I never thought this day would come. It's beyond my wildest dreams, but I'm here against all odds. I'm working in science, I'm a professional artist, I'm an author, and I'm so grateful. 

I tell you this: it's not about talent. It's about being too stubborn to quit. When you are knocked down, get up. When you trip over your own feet, get up. Practice, day in and day out. Sit there in your car at lunchtime and do that thing for the few moments you can scrape from your day. Little by little, when you aren't paying attention, it will grow. And when it reaches maturity, you'll discover just what it really is. 

I have no idea what that looks like for you. I don't even know what the future brings for me. But I do know this. If I had given up and laid down and died I would never have seen this morning's sunrise. And I'm happy. It's worthwhile, this scratching and clawing and creeping away from the brink until you get to your knees, you get to your feet, and then you finally can run!