I have no idea who created this little public service ad… but it’s brills. I snagged it from a friend on facebook who got it from this person who got it from this person… some guy named Peter. I shared it on my facebook page, so why here? A chord was struck after I read the comments some people left…
Jon commented:
this reminds me of so many moments where I noticed the fear in my mothers eyes when I would talk about being an artist for a living… ”living” lol
Jonathon said:
I’ve always said, screw anyone who is against what I’m passionate about.
I really do think [artists] definitely need to also have a business mind, not a stuck-in-the-closet “doing my own creepy little bits of art stuffs” kind of thinking… that way of thinking will never earn a man a loaf of bread.
Luis remarked to Jonathon:
being creepy is what it takes to get bread i will just go on atkins
Jasmine declared:
sure—take away my art supplies, I’ll just get them somewhere else.
…and Cat laughed:
if only my parents had read the warning signs I might not be in this situation!
I’ve been pointedly doing this art thing now for over 10 years. I’ve had some success and a lot of disappointments. A lot of ‘near-misses’ in terms of sales, getting a picture right or getting a ‘break’. Nowadays I have space and time to consistently create and the only thing that holds me back from that is just… me. Well, it was always me, one way or another, but now it’s just more apparent and I can deal with whatever comes up.
I had to starve and sweat and scream and push to get here. As a kid I was told that drawing was a waste of paper, as a teenager I wasn’t allowed to take music or art classes. I drew in secret, with my bedroom door locked. They were some of the most fulfilling hours of my life. Growing up, I loved comic books (still do…) and was shamed for it every time I came home with them.
Once I was more or less on my own, I bought my first sketchbook. I was 21, had dropped out of a college degree program I never chose for myself and was driving around the States. I drew, and drew, then something strange happened: I started getting panic attacks when I drew. I had to draw fast, real fast, then close the book and walk away so I wouldn’t feel all that anxiety. It’s been quite a journey to get to a point where I could do what I want to do.
A couple of years ago my Dad said how proud he was that I was living life on my own terms. He said that I’d ‘been living on my wits’ all these years. Notice, he didn’t say I’d ‘been living on my art.’ And he was right, technically. I was saddened to realize how far there is to go, and that he and most of my family still didn’t get what I was after…
That I had been living for it, for every venture into job and work and show and move to a new state or country, I had been searching for a way to let myself create. I had been searching to surround myself with people who understood that enough that they could just enjoy me enjoying it, not telling me what job I should get or what I should be doing with my life. Everything has been for art/peace and resolving the demons that barred the way, when it wasn’t just about survival (and there’ve been a few times…).
Art, is powerful stuff. Then I run across this (below), and yeah, I like the sentiment. Yet… I’m not going to stop until I really make a living doing this. I mean, I’m not going to stop. (If I could make that period bigger, I would) I’m giving the world at large no choice in the matter, no fucking choice whatsoever. I am an artist and here to stay. So… let’s go ahead and rise even further.
