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| Scarlet by Jane Odartey |
Yes, it’s hard times and jobs are like the proverbial needle in the haystack, but at a very early age I made a promise not to let quick-tempered men control my stress buttons. Money is important, in that it gives us that serene false sense of security. False because whether or not one has a job, money comes and goes as it pleases. Weird things happen, and we lose and gain everything, except to suffer the “what the heck am I going to do now?” feeling.
My schedule’s been cleared up for almost two weeks now, and I am back to that place I always go when I don’t know what to do with myself: writing, reading, museum-gallery hopping and playing in photoshop. I find myself muttering to my photoshop screen daily, instead of the usual once-a-week, to meet my art blog’s deadline.
I have and I’m still holding back in calling myself an Artist. I feel that I am not ready to claim that title. I feel that I am yet to prove my ability to create art to myself. Or I am just scared that I won’t meet my own standards once I go into title mode. That I might fail at the one thing that I believe I am meant to do. I know I’m being silly, but try reasoning with tangled-up emotions of fear and uncertainty. I have lately been calling myself “an aspiring artist.” This doesn’t put any pressure on me. The word “aspiring” is loose, after all. There’s no commitment. Nothing to prove.
The more I write and edit my work, the more I learn to respect the great pull that writing and photography have on me, the more I start to think that I really should take things a bit more seriously. Sooner or later I will roll into the title. I am very curious as to what it would do to me. I sense that it may have a significant influence on what I create, I just don’t know what this influence would be. And I really don’t have anything to lose. Or do I?
