Three times in the past year I’ve had workers in house ask me about my paintings. It makes sense, since I have hundreds of them all over the walls. Connecting over art seems to be a natural conversation starter.
They ask about my paintings and then tell me stories about their own drawings or their aspirations to someday make art. One showed me a drawing he made in high school that won an award. Another had his girlfriend send pictures of her photorealistic portrait drawings. They tell me what they like about my work. Sometimes they ask how I got started.
It’s interesting because I never thought about my painting as a way to connect with other people.
What’s been the most surprising is that they all call me an artist. Yesterday, the Google tech floored me when he said, “My girlfriend is an artist – just like you.”
I was flustered and almost spit out, “Me? I’m not an artist. I just like to paint.”
But I choked back my immediate response and instead asked about his girlfriend’s art.
I’m no artist is what I was thinking. An artist is someone who makes art and makes money from it.
I have no interest in the business side of art. As much as I’d love to strike it rich, I have never attempted to sell a single painting and likely never will.
I like making art. I like looking at it. I like thinking about it. I like coming u with new ideas. I like making something from nothing. I like making something ordinary look beautiful.
So perhaps I was wrong. Maybe I am an artist.