Dayton was busy on November 12th for our Art Loop studio tour. I’ve lost track of how long we’ve had this annual event, long enough to reflect on how my studio, art, and motivations have changed over the years.
The most obvious change is my studio, before 2016 it was so small that people had to wait outside and take shifts to get in. When we started doing cycles, I worked both full-time and part-time; now it’s obviously easier to find the time to prepare my space for studio tours.
My definition of a “successful” Art Loop Studio Tour has changed over the years. In the early years, I would share my innermost thoughts during the hours devoted to my passion. Sales are a total bonus. Later, as a “full-time artist”, I tried to create, market and sell more seriously. “Success” is tied to sales, and art becomes a job. This year, visiting with friends, sharing why I paint, and seeing people experience art rounded out my idea of a “successful studio tour”, and the sale was the reward for a truly enjoyable day.
I’ve written before that when my motivation for making art falls into the pursuit of income or awards, art falls flat while also creating a real sense of satisfaction in the profession. Over the past few years, I’ve dropped my goal of being an artist and investigated my intentions and purposes; I’ve seen that the more proud I am of my attention, the less fun or fulfilling it is to pursue it.
Past motivations for making art come to mind: drawing as a child; drawing as therapy after the birth of our stillborn daughter; living out my dream of drawing full-time after losing my job in 2012; a few years ago, when I was worried about paying the bills and raising a family Fear forced me to be more cautious when it came to subsistence, which ossified my style and dampened my joy.
I used to be terrified of losing my sight or cutting off my hands in some tragic table saw accident, because not being able to draw terrified me. Everything I have to offer seems to be about talent. Lately, I’ve been willing to hand over artwork if it’s taken; after all, it’s a gift. This reawakened my gratitude for the blessing of doing what I love (and I can do other things if need be). “You can never sanctify to God what you desire to satisfy yourself,” O. Chambers said.
I rediscovered that making art is about the process, the story, and the unexpected and interesting things that happen as I happily flick the paint and go back and forth. Painting is not a means of acquiring any substance, but a connection to my creator, audience and subject. I remember art not for being famous or getting rich or even paying the bills, but reminiscing about those happy reasons I created in my early years. The rest are just by-products.
People who visited the studio commented on the freedom and color of a painting, which is very different from most of the works on the wall. I explained that I kept that old painting as a reminder to stay true to the God-given vision I had when fear tightened my strokes, tamed my color, made me conform to trends or garner sales or acclaim. That painting reminded me of the joy of being back in my little space, when studio time was precious and it was play, not work.
