They call me:
and I am sure a lot more, but the one thing I can't bring myself to call myself is an Artist. For some reason there is a formality that comes to mind when I hear the word "artist." It seems that it is what you call people whose work hangs in art galleries. All of my work stays in my journals.
Don't get me wrong, I love art. I go to lots of art shows, but I don't have anything that I would call a work of art. Everything always just seems like practice. The question is, what will it take to get my work out of a book and onto a canvas or some other concrete object worth displaying or sharing. I feel comfortable sharing with my Sketchbook and Blogger friends, but beyond that corner of my world I do not stray.
How does one come to the point where she say, my work is worth sharing with world? How do I come to believe that my work has more value than just the materials I put into it? This is not a call for compliments or strokes. I am truly curious. How do I break out of my little world?
Today's Music Note: You are listening to "That's Not My Name" by the Ting Tings. It makes me think of my friend Peggy who used to take my dog Zoey for a walk with my son. They would come back - cheeks red from the summer heat - singing "They call me Sta-Cey." It makes me smile. The other reason I like this song is it reminds me of my dad. He named me after his mother. Only at home did people call me nicknames. My first year at school, some teacher called me Maryann or Rosemarie. (I don't remember which because for years after that I was called some form of Anne and Mary or Marie.) Mom said, "That's not your name." I said, "I knew who she meant." It wasn't until 7th grade when my band director listed me as "Annie" on a concert program that I realized that it mattered, especially to my dad. He came up to me after the concert asking me why it listed me as Annie. I told him that was what Mr. Sulak called me. Dad told me, "That's not your name. You tell Mr. Sulak, that your name is Annemarie." The next day, I nervously approached him and said, "Mr. Sulak, my daddy said my name isn't Annie. It's Annemarie. Please don't call me Annie." He said fine and that was the end of that. From that point on I have always made sure that people call be my full name. It's a mouthful, but that is my name. What do people call you?