Children are always asked…
“what do you want to be when you grow up??
Me. Oh no. I didn’t want to be a doctor. Or a firefighter. Nope not an astronaut either. I would declare.
“I want to be an artist!”
I’m not sure what that really meant at that age other than I could draw all day and get paid. Right??
Oh the cruel truths of adulthood. While I held on strong to my need to be an artist. I went to art school. Studied photography, and me the high school drop out walked away with a BFA in Fine Art Photography.
I attempted for a time to work as a photographer…ok I was the school picture day lady. No joke.
But I made nothing. I had one hell of a commute to work. The hours sucked and when it was the down season my pay checks paid for my gas to get to work.
Finally I just lost the passion.
Slowly. Oh so slowly it’s coming back.
I’m a little nervous and excited to share my in progress wall mural. Progress is slow. But so far I’m pleased.
Painting and drawing seem to fit my late night art moods a little easier than photography might. And I enjoy the tactile nature of it.
If only this depression would lift. I can feel the longing to work on something but the lack of motivation and inspiration thanks to the depression keeps me blocked.