Why I Am "Untitled"

I've never considered myself an artist. A writer and poet - yes. A teacher, speaker, and performer- yes. A creative thinker and visionary - also yes. 

Massage therapy - a profession I've been a part of for more than thirty years - is considered a healing art. And lord knows, being an entrepreneur is an ongoing endeavor of creation and reinvention. But despite all of these artistic leanings, I've never felt the title of "artist" was something that fit me.

I've also taken photos for my own pleasure and enjoyment for the last ten years or so. It began as a way for me to find moments and spaces of Zen and beauty in what felt like a very rushed and over-busy existence. It helped me connect to the present moment, see hidden worlds within worlds, and find gratitude in the intricacies of simple existence that are all around us. 

Connecting my photos with inspiring words in my "Positive Thought Cards" created a way for me to share love, kindness, and light with the world one picture and quote at a time. They cultivate conversations and create unique memories out of ordinary moments. But for some reason, I've also shied away from the title of "photographer."

I don't have a concrete answer as to why I've felt uncomfortable with these titles. Perhaps I think these convey some level of expectation from others - or of myself. Another possibility is that I am afraid of being compared to "real" artists or photographers. Hmmm.

As I considered this yesterday, I was taken back to some memories of my childhood. My grandmother was a watercolor artist. Though she didn't begin painting until she was seventy, at age seventy-seven, Pearle was considered "accomplished." When I was about seven or eight, she was featured in the newspaper for her work and had one of her pieces purchased for the "permanent collection" of the Weatherspoon Gallery in Greensboro, NC.

I have no idea how much of an accomplishment this really is, but to my seven-year-old mind, it was big. I was really proud of Pearle. And of course,  wanting to be like her, I wanted to be an artist. However, when I tried to put watercolor or much of anything on paper, it looked nothing like hers and I felt like a failure. 

After more than a few home and art class duds,  I moved into a safer creative area where I excelled - that of writing. My grandmother was also a writer and so it felt like a place where I could be like Pearle, do well, and make her proud. I've continued with that as my books, articles and this blog obviously demonstrate.

A lot of time has passed since I decided I was not capable of being an artist like Pearle. However, over the last several years, my visually creative endeavors have increased a little at a time. A craft project here, a painting party there, and my "in the moment" photography began to awaken my desire to create more. Then a couple of years ago, some personal growth experiences pushed me to put something beyond words to paper and I began expressing myself in colors and hues more often .

Now, especially with all the drawing and coloring I've done since the start of Shevolve, I am a lot more confident in my artistic skills.  In fact, I often draw or color at the end of the day to focus unsettled energy or just relax.

Out of the blue last week, I decided to take a bigger leap, and signed up for a watercolor class. I have no idea how long it's been since I sat down with this type of medium, but with my growing confidence, I wanted to give it a try. 

Sitting in a room with twenty other students, my mouth felt dry as I contemplated the palate of colors in front of me. Though her technique was nothing like my grandmother's, as I watched the instructor make magic appear on her canvas, my stress levels began to rise.  

Though I tried the different brush strokes and painting exercises with a sense of curiosity and adventure, the familiar waves of self-doubt began to crest. As I looked around the room at what others were creating, I saw real talent, passion, and skill well beyond where I was starting. 

Thankfully, my positive affirmations and other self-soothing skills kicked in. No tears fell and I made it through the class cheerfully. 

At the end of class, I admired the work and color-blending skills of the women who shared my table.  As we all packed up,  I was compelled to give a positive thought card to each of them and the instructor.  

One by one, they oohed and ahhed over my cards and photos in the same way I'd admired their watercolors. I wonder if they were wishing they could take photos like mine or would feel self-doubt if this were a class on photography rather than painting.

As I write this I think that maybe I am not a watercolor artist like Pearle because I'm not seventy-seven yet. In fact, if I really want to be like her, I need to wait at least 15 years until I take watercolors and how I do with them seriously! Ha ha.

In actuality, I'm taking another watercolor class tomorrow. We are painting a sunflower - one of my favorites, if you didn't know - so I couldn't resist. However, since I'm not a watercolor artist, I'm walking into that room without any expectations of myself or the way the painting and I bloom onto the canvas.

For some perspective on the concept and history of "untitled" as it relates to works of art, check out this article: https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-artworks-untitled

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