I just had my first ever self-promoted art show, and it kinda sucked.

 I just had my first ever self-promoted art show, and it kinda sucked.

I can already hear my husband, best friends, and fans say, "What are you talking about? It was so good!" and I thank all of you kind and wonderful creatures.

They aren't wrong. My show was incredible. I wrote a massive, triple tiered to-do list and checked off all but three boxes. I framed everything myself, designed prints for every piece that was featured, and rebooted my Etsy page that had everything available a week before the show. I FINALLY figured out how to use my design software enough to rebrand my business, create a theme for my show, and make everything look cohesive. For two weeks my show was the only thing I talked about to every person I knew and didn't. I made a plan, executed that plan, and I even sold work. One could ask, then why did it suck?

I'll tell you why.

My life long dream was to show my work and live off my art, but I felt that this show, as successful as it was, barely scratched the surface of what I wanted. All of a sudden a good show isn't good enough, and I'm craving a great show: larger spaces, longer showings, more original art, and art installations that prior to this moment were spouts of frivolous imagination. I've become hungrier than ever, and the fulfillment of what I'm capable of is the only thing I crave.

It's like ordering a dessert that you're not really sure if you wanted. You get it, you taste it, and your entire understanding of dessert is changed forever. The only thing on your mind is how can you get more of it and how fast can you get it. You wonder how you've survived this long without it, how you can make up for that time, and unapologetically crave one thing and one thing only, like it was meant to be yours. It almost sucks that you found this life changing dessert, because it was easier to be ignorant and have a sub-par standard. It comes down to two choices; do you pretend that greater doesn't exist and live in peace and ease or do you fight for a greatness that's difficult to achieve but so much more wanted?

Having a good art show was just that, good. Good enough. But, I know how to make it better. I start by checking off those last three boxes and adding even more boxes. I keep going. I have to! I've already proven I could do it, and anything less than the best I can do would be settling. I know it will be hard and that there will be parts that I don't look forward to, but the cost of not reaching my full capability is too great for me to pass up. It sucks, but in all the best ways I couldn't have even imagined. And for that, I am grateful.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat an entire cheesecake.

Sarah the Artist

 My name is Sarah, and I am an artist.

Isn't that crazy? That feeling you get when you refer to yourself as the thing you've always wanted to be? In a way, I feel like a fraud, or a wanna be because my work isn't hanging in the Whitney museum or archived in private collections around the world (yet). 

I remember the first time I was ever called an artist. I was at my first real job, ever, at a run down frame shop with broken machinery, being mentored by a quirky woman named Georgie, learning all the ins and outs of how to frame pictures. 

I fucking loved it.

The work that came in and the museum-ready product that went out had everything to do with color, shape, and the golden ratio. (Throughout this blog, you'll find that I'm a little obsessed with picture framing, but don't worry. I'll leave my little rants in a separate category so us framers can geek out elsewhere). It was about three months into my newly solidified part-time gig when Georgie and I got to talking about my goals of what I wanted to do with my life. I had mentioned that all I ever did was draw, and everything I could ever do would have to be related to it. She lit up like a motion-sensor back porch light and exclaimed "Well that's what your doing right now! You're being paid to be an artist, because only an artist could do the work that you do!". I was mildly startled at the burst of excitement, but  I couldn't help but smile. I guess I was, wasn't I? I mean, why else was I in love with a minimum wage job in a dusty old shop? Of course it was what I was doing, and not where I was or what I was being paid. If I'm always drawing, creating, and entertaining my passion, didn't that mean I was, am, and always will be an artist?

And that's how it was born. I became an artist the second that someone called me one, someone that wasn't the voice in my head. I'm not a fraud or a wanna be if I have someone to stand witness to the passion I have and the work that I do. It's been said that one person may not change the world, but helping someone can change the world for that person. Every once in a while, that one person is an artist who just needs to hear themselves be called one. The cool part about that is the capability we all have to change someone's world by giving them the recognition they deserve. 

I'd love to hear if anyone else remembers the moment they became an artist. If you haven't become one yet, use this moment as your justification to become the artist you've always wanted to be. It's not easy, but I promise it's worth it.

Thanks for the read!

SW