Artists are flesh and blood. They are born with an undeniable passion. Without that passion, they would not bother to create, to strive to put down their message… what ever it is.
The general population does not understand this very well. There is a pervading premise that the artist does it for the love of it. Half true, for the love and the war it creates with their breast.
It is true that many artists paint beautiful things, so where does war come in? For some it’s the struggle to get it down., to find the time, the funds and the strength of conviction to go in one direction. The artist fights within themselves to get down to it on a regular basis, to create what is in their heart their mind and their soul, to say it flamboyantly, succinctly, lyrically, brashly and so many other adjectives, I would need all the pages of Websters’ to reiterate them all.
As such, disappointment and struggle are the name of the game, none of it is easily won. There are no overnight successes, only people who dedicate their life to the struggle to be called an artist.
As age creeps up on me, that struggle intensifies, wanes, and becomes just…life.
Each failure is at first a burden. But the next steps involve regrouping and recovering one’s balance to move ahead.
I have just encountered another failure. Another dropped commission.
My artist’s heart is sickened. But I will regroup, tomorrow, and tomorrow after that.