That word has been a hard one for me to swallow for many years, even though painting is what I first and foremost identify with, and what I have always wanted to do with my life. I suppose the biggest roadblock for me has been that I haven't made painting my way of life. Not having it be my way of life made it difficult for me to feel like a "true painter," as if there was some purity that needed to be achieved by daily absorbing myself in canvas, paper, paints and brushes.
I thought that as I grew older, put more paintings under my belt, continued to develop my skill, that I would somehow feel more justified in the title of "painter." But I haven't.
I think the problem is that I'm not the painter I have always wanted to be. I do paint. I don't paint every day. I don't sell my work often (I love to paint gifts for my loved ones). I haven't been living the life of a "painter," instead of just "someone who paints."
I've always said I wanted to be an artist when I grew up. Well, I'm grown. I'm 31. I'm a mother, a wife, a member of a thriving and beautiful community.
It's time to do it. Time to be an artist. Time to be a painter.
