Y’know . . . I took art classes for years. In middle school and high school. Even in college (as much as I could, given that I wasn’t an art major). I picked up classes again as an adult, once my kids were out of the house and I had more time. And you know what I learned? Technique. Technique. Technique. Perspective drawing. Shading. How not to make drips on my watercolor. And mostly . . . how to create “art” . . . that looked just like my instructors’ art!

I was told (directly and indirectly) over and over that . . . my more whimsical pieces were Not Real Art. That my embrace of the “watermark” was Not Real Art. That my (intentionally) skewed perspectives were Not Real Art. And – heaven forbid – that “mixed media” (my favorite “media”) was Not Real Art. (Which is why I have such trouble with the terms “artist” and “studio.” Because Not Real Art.)

I have spent a lot of time this year trying to unspool all of that in my head. I’ve been trying to quiet those voices and just play and have fun. It’s been a challenge. But I’m making some progress. (I’m calling it my Fu@k Y*u phase . . . )

It’s clear that I have . . . decades (a lifetime, actually) of whimsy trapped inside me!

             

It may be . . . Not Real Art.
But I’m having fun.
And doing it my way.
(Finally.)