I am loving the way the colors are working together with the pattern of the weave. However, the edges are not making me happy, but I'll just stay at it till I've finished the piece. Then I can start anew.
Funny how this happens in my creative life. When a painting or fiber project is going well, I LOVE what I am doing. When the inevitable dud comes along, it affects all of life. Gloom, despair and agony on me! Silly, but pretty much how I've been responding since I started school.
Today, though, I am finding joy just being in my studio at home, puttering. This is due, in large part to a new friend I've made. His name is George, and he changed my world view last week while we were visiting. I've spent weeks worrying that since my art isn't what is considered "Avant Guard," or that it might not be good art, would somehow mean I am not an artist, or qualified to be called an artist.
Recently a friend referred to me as an artist in conversation and I replied with, "Not an artist YET, but working to get there." At that point, I should have picked up on what I've been telling myself. Who gets to define me? An art critic, or a gallery owner? Am I a real artist when enough people want to buy my work? George's view set me straight on this. He said that the marks he makes on his paper aren't what make him an artist. How he sees the world around him and how he responds to it are what make him an artist. The marks he makes on paper are BECAUSE he's an artist.
Well, this is a whole new world view! He's right. I am an artist. I always have been. Everything I do, from making every pie I've ever baked as beautiful as I can to binding books to painting what I love, expresses that part of myself every day of my life. So, my wonky weaving will have parts I love to look at and parts that are not straight and perfect. It will be just fine. The errors in a piece don't have the power to change what and who I am, and this is a wonderful realization.
Thanks, George!
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