“People frequently believe the creative life is grounded in fantasy. The more difficult truth is that creativity is grounded in reality, in the particular, the focused, the well observed or specifically imagined… Art lies in the moment of encounter: we meet our truth and we meet ourselves; we meet ourselves and we meet our self expression. We become original because we become something specific: an origin from which work flows.”

I spent most of my life – albeit only 27 years – vigorously avoiding the title “artist.” It took loosening and overcoming deeply embedded beliefs that art was not a “real” or “good enough” profession, that I wasn’t good enough to “make it”, and that, as an artist, I would forever be poor, starving, and struggling before I was able to begin to embrace the dreaded title. Once I graduated high school, I stopped creating altogether, and were it not for the help and encouragement of a good friend, I may not have picked up a brush for longer than the nearly five years it took to begin painting once again. These days, I have embraced the title. I identify as an “artist” and it is my profession. Most of my time (notice I didn’t say spare time!) is focused around my artistic career – whether I’m painting, researching, sketching, or blogging. I have finally become okay with this. I can say, “I am an artist” without any adverse reactions.

Now, I suffer from a different feeling altogether – I fear that I’m a fake.

I often sit in my studio and imagine other, more real artists going about their work feeling consistently inspired, having direction, and loving everything about what they do. I, on the other hand, struggle to figure out what to paint. I spend far too much time thinking considering what other people will think if I paint “x” or whether what I want to do is accessible or not. I self-criticize to a painful degree. I contemplate never painting again at least once throughout the process of every painting. And each time I finish or hang a painting, that great feeling of pride or accomplishment is gnawed at by a persistent fear that someone – some “real” artist – is going to walk in and call me out.

Surely, they’ll know immediately that I’m faking. That I’m playing at this artist-thing. That I’m making it up as I go.

Sunday night, I read week #4 of The Artist’s Way. The timing of this book is uncanny – either every other artist really does go through the same process that I do, or this thing was written just for me. This little section jumped off the page and grabbed me: “People frequently believe the creative life is grounded in fantasy. The more difficult truth is that creativity is grounded in reality, in the particular, the focused, the well observed or specifically imagined… Art lies in the moment of encounter: we meet our truth and we meet ourselves; we meet ourselves and we meet our self expression. We become original because we become something specific: an origin from which work flows.”

I am at a consistent stage of reminding myself that I am an artist because, despite the difficulties, perceived short comings, ad self doubt, I love to create above anything else. Even if I knew I would never sell another piece, I would continue to paint, create, to make. Whatever I choose to paint or to create, it comes from inside of me – I don’t have to worry about whether I’m being innovative enough, original enough, or appealing enough – hopefully, it is my passion that will be appealing, and I am original because I become the origin from which the work flows.

Now to say that out loud to myself in the mirror for a month or so …