Sunday, July 27, 2008

Don't tell anyone, but I make things...


THE MAIL ORDER ZOMBIE!!!!
Originally uploaded by Nix Sidhe.

I know that I don't talk about the things that I make all too often here on my blog, but I am making things. Sometimes I wonder why I don't talk about the artistic/crafty side of my life, especially since I have an entire room dedicated to this very part of me.

I made this long drawn out post with some highlights in photo form, but by all means not all, of things I've been making. I posted it on this website called Indiepublic as well as on my myspace blog, but surprisingly not on here. I suppose I've just become a little more private in some ways about the things I make. I honestly don't ever see myself becoming someone who can set up a booth at a craft fair and sell her wares or as a girl with a gallery show. I just can't imagine it, as much as I would love for my creations to be my only source of work.

Although upon worrying over it, I think I may have found out the actual source of this issue. In Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, she talks about historic monsters and creative injuries. These are people and situations where someone is especially hurtful when it comes to one's desire to create and the product of that desire. I agree with her whole heartedly that these people and instances are truly damaging and create the building blocks of one's core negative beliefs. Two people stand out in my mind as having been particularly cruel when it came to the things I make. (While a lot of people claim that their parents are the first and main source; mine were never hurtful. My parents weren't overly excited that I longed to make art a career, (in fact this is just why I went into college as a psych major and felt so very discontent with the idea of college all together) they were never cruel though.)

In high school I knew a guy named Glen who was particularly harsh in his comments. On a walk one evening during his senior year he made mention of how excited he was to go to the art institute in Pittsburgh. He was, of course, interested in "artsy-women." When I made mention that he was on a walk with one, he only laughed and said, "I meant a real artist." From that point on I noticed how he looked at my work in the art classes we shared, he was not only disinterested in what I was producing but also somewhat disgusted. I couldn't believe that I hadn't ever noticed it before that. I suppose I was just happy to be around other artists.

The second is a girl named Laura. I gave her and her husband a gift of painting for their wedding. This was a painting I had spent a large amount of time on and I was particularly proud of. They told me they loved it. I found out some 6+ months later that together they had made jokes about it and then painted over it.

I was so hurt by both of these instances. It would have been different if they were strangers, art critics, etc. It would have stung then, but not hurt like it did. Right after I found out about the second instance, I stopped giving art as a gift to anyone other than my family. Even now I doubt every single thing I make to some degree. I've become overly critical of my own work and it's taken out a lot of the joy in the act of making things.

Now, in my sewing ventures, I keep a special journal of projects. In this book I write out lists of projects I am planning to do, I would like to do, or ones I am currently working on. I note the steps I take, the materials I used (with swatches when possible), and all of the problems I ran into. More than once I have thought about sharing the pages of this journal, the ideas and problems. I suppose I'm still a little scared though.

Is anyone else this neurotic?