Most of my time and energy I gave to working as a sole proprietor. About a year ago, the option had come up of renting space at a bridal shop and running a small alterations business. Ok, I thought - you do this thing that'll make you a real person now. You go out there and write work orders and make real people money for once you f*&%ing sad excuse for an artist.
About 6 mos in I realized that kind of talk had become the everyday subtext of my brain. It wasn't exactly as new as I'd thought, either. Reaching back, I understood my work, my art, and my decisions had from the beginning been laced with self-dosed poison.
There was never a time when I thought I WILL BE *fill in blank*. I can't think of a single time I succeeded in saying it. I always pulled my mental punches, cautioning myself that it was safer not to foresee myself in places I could never reach.
This year, I'll be what I say I will.
I will be a costume illustrator, a student in digital painting class, a self-employed costume technician, a CTNX attendee, a storyteller, AN ARTIST.
EVERY CELL OF ME WILL BE AN ARTIST.