Thursday, December 6, 2012

I wish I was an artist...

I have wished to be an artist since I can remember.

I wish I could draw, nicely.  I wish I could paint, beautifully.  I wish I could strum the guitar, musically.  

But all these years I have accepted that it just wasn't me.  I am left brained.  I do math, I make lists, I am timely, I think ahead.  Being a whimsical artEEst that wears a beret and lives in Paris, that plays acoustic around a campfire, that paints for hours in a studio... is just not who I will ever be.

I think about this all of the time... mostly when I am scrubbing my house, on my hands and knees, in my jammies, wondering just what it is I am doing here.  I scrub and I scrub and I think about my place in this world.  Sometimes I feel like I belong to this BIG life of mine.  And sometimes I feel awfully small.  

But I never feel like the artist I have always longed to be.

BUT THEN I REALIZED...

in my jammies, in rubber gloves, with my head in the toilet

I am an artist.

My life is my art.

My house is my painting.
My children are my pottery.
My marriage is my architecture.
I cook, sew, craft, build, create.  I rock out, I dance (alone when I clean), I write...

And suddenly everywhere I look I see art.

Happy Day.
Photobucket

4 comments:

  1. You are so right! What a lovely post. And a great and very arty picture!

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  2. Your post made me cry! A nice cry.

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  3. Art.... what's that? But you and your life is wonderful to behold! No artist could create a picture, sculpture or installation that compares! xxx

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  4. You have always been an artist. Everything you do is art.

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