In her book of diaries, Daybook, Ann Truitt wrote on the 6th of August, 1974, "Indeed, I am not sure that I can grow as an artist until I can bring myself to accept that I am one."
I say always that I'm not a real artist. Artists are artists and that is just it. Artists have art and that is all. I am lying. I am an artist whether I would be or not. Having lived a bit over 23 years, I don't know yet if I would be or not. But I am. I have more than art. I do more than art. I am more than artist. "Don't it make you sad to know that life is more than who we are?" Damn, if this was my own journal I probably wouldn't feel obliged to cite that: John Rzeznik wrote that, an artist in his own right. That totally interrupted my flow. Ah, work.
I am not saddened by this. I am inspired by it. Everything is more than who we are. There wouldn't be anything if this weren't the case. Why shouldn't we strive to put down in tangible form what we get out of life? This is the way we put things into life. This is what we are. We are so small.
The experiences and emotions and things I've seen of this life are nothing, and yet when I paint, I paint more than an object, more than form, more than color, more than line, more than life. I paint what I see, but not just with my eyes. I see a flower. I don't see just petals and a stem and maybe a few thorns and some leaves. I see more. Life is more.
Many people say that artists see differently. We see no differently than you do. But when we do see something, we take it into ourselves and see more. We think differently. We take what we see and we find the beauty, the ugly, the corrupt, the sublime. We feel the extremes. We can't look on the surface and see just the surface, even if that is really all we're looking at. It doesn't work. Sometimes I wish it had worked, and I'm sure there will be more times when I wish it would work, but that is not who I am. And that probably saved me.
Women do this more than men, it is a part of our biologies, and artists seem to do it more than anyone. I am not tooting my own horn, my life has been a struggle to rid me of this. But I can be more than artist. I can be linguist. I can be wife. I can relax and let myself be me. I can be happy knowing I am who I am, and I can paint. And I can sell paintings and give money to penguins!