I’ll Be An Artist When I’m 50
How we make excuses when we are afraid to embrace our gifts.
“I’ll be an artist when I’m 50.” That’s what I used to say when people would comment on my artistic talents and I didn’t really believe being an artist could exist for me.
Let’s go back a little first. My story is not so different from many of my fellow creatives - a child shows some natural talent, they have tiny quiet dreams about doing art. Then comes: a hurtful comment by an ignorant teacher, a childhood where everyone was a creative but not an artist, and the underlying message that a person can’t make a living as an artist. So, I put a part of myself aside. It seemed valid. I had a lot of other things I was trying to do, like manage to pay my bills, fix my car, deal with parent/family challenges, and just get by. Becoming an artist didn’t fit in with that. I had (still have some) emotional baggage about making a living with art and no real good example of what it looked like to be a financially successful artist. Mostly though, I was hiding from that bright spot because of fear and insecurity.
It took a long time to start being creative again. I pretty much had let it go entirely, until I found my way to a life-changing job at an environmental center in Alabama. I had already ditched my ill-fitting graphic design career and launched in a new direction - thanks to my sister for that timely kick in the pants. I was traveling the US working seasonally in awe-inspiring places like, Glacier National Park and Grand Tetons National Park. I had also completed a certification course to be a wilderness trip facilitator with Outward Bound. I was making progress toward putting more joy, wonder, and nature back into my life, but I still had baggage to drop.
I went back to school right before I switched careers and finished a BFA in Illustration. Believe it or not, it wasn’t because I was going to become an artist! It was because I needed a Bachelor’s degree (I only had an associates) and it was the fastest path to one. Although my teachers and family did their best to encourage me to apply for art positions, I wasn’t ready.
When I got hired at McDowell Environmental Center (MEC) in 2007, things started to change. I found a temporary second home there, where I was allowed - actually, encouraged - to be myself completely. To be silly, to laugh a lot, to give and receive hugs, to be creative, and best of all, to be curious! As my connections to nature returned and deepened, and my heart’s voice became stronger, art came back too. (I seriously just had tears come to my eyes while typing that. That’s how much I didn’t realize how far from my inner spirit I had strayed and how important art and nature were to my well-being.) I oil painted again, something I learned from my grandmother as a child. I made gift wreaths out of dried plants harvested from the property. I gave little gifts of art - something I used to love doing. I walked quietly in nature, I observed, I took pictures, I drew, thought, and wrote. I even found real, lasting love by the end of my time there (cue the handsome helicopter pilot in training that I met at an outdoor rock climbing locale). I will always be grateful to Maggie, and Heather, and all the staff during my time at MEC for creating such a welcoming place for lost young (or 30 something) adults to find a home and find themselves.
From there, art became a more regular part of my life. I kept doing little bits of art and creative exploration. I got Lyme disease and was very ill for a number of years, but on the road to recovery doing more art made even more sense, because there were a lot of other things I couldn’t do. I am so grateful to my now-husband for financially and emotionally supporting me during those four long years. He may have realized, even before I did, how much I needed art to feed my soul, as he needed flying helicopters at that time for his. I wasn’t doing a lot with it formally, but I was allowing it to be part of my life again. I gave myself permission to be curious and explore and share knowledge, and eventually, along with the love and encouragement from my family…I was ready.
Now here I am, two years from being 50, calling myself an artist (I still have to gather my confidence to say that) and telling people about my tiny art business. I’m now at that place that used to be just a phrase and way to hide my fears and uncertainties about doing something really big and bright. Will I be a financially successful artist by 50? Hard to say. It would be pretty wild, wouldn’t it? Sometimes it seems so far out of reach, especially right now when we’re living on the road, scrapping together work, and strange times are upon our country, but there’s also a sense that I haven’t even begun yet, that there is so much more to come, that I can’t quit now. I unintentionally put that statement out to the universe over 20 years ago and it wound its way through who knows what before making its way back to me, so I’m not letting go this time. I can’t say what the path will look like, but there will always be a place for you, my curious artist soul, here.
