Funnily enough, so does dejection.
I started this blog on another path, had a paragraph written out about Artists and our crafts. Then I went to search for a list--you know, a way to say "hey, here are all the listed types of artists. Look how many of us there are."
But when I hit "search" on my little Google bar, I wasn't there.
Not me specifically of course, but Writers were a part of the lists. Fair enough to the literal tendencies of Google, neither were Musicians.
Google is ever a cruel Mistress...or Master.
This was somewhat silly to me, but also disheartening. I then started tap tap tapping away in my Google toolbar for a new search, and to my expectation, Google could fill in the blanks for me--because I was not the only one who was wondering this:
"Are writers considered Artists?"
Of course, every writer on "yahoo answers" said "Yes, I consider myself an Artist", but I couldn't find a concrete "Wikipedia" type assertion that I was INDEED and Artist in the eyes of the world (and not just the eyes of other writers).
In my search I stumbled across another blog; what I read there made me smile, laugh at the truth, and ponder what I was going to write here. The author was discussing how another woman was described as an "Artist" and therefore allowed to dress in a strange, interesting, stand-out fashion.
The author wondered why their coworker remarked "Uh-uh, don't even think about it. She's an artist."
But I'm an Artist too...
I just don't create visual art.
My art is all in my head. I can create anything--any world, any person, any rule. If I can think it, I can have it. In fact, for my art to be considered "good" (not even great yet), I have to be able to create just those things--People, places, rules, societies, habits--to the finest detail.
So when a fellow Writer/Artist is told "Uh-uh you couldn't wear that. You're no artist" I balk.
Truth be told, if you've known me through a month of clothing, you'll know I have my own taste. It isn't always about blending into the crowd, but it's not always about standing out either.
I make my own rules. If I want to wear leg warmers with a skirt and a boat-neck sweatshirt I will(that sounds totally cute). If I want to wear jeans and a t-shirt as a standard run of the mill American, I'll do that too.
If I want to pretend to be my character (A villainous Sorceress or a shy tomboy) in public to see how people would react to that character...
Well then, I damn well will!
I'm an artist, no bones about it.
I'm a special kind of artist, because I require you to use your imagination to see what I see. I won't put it in front of you. I'll let you create it a bit in your own head. I'll give you my idea of what I see and the picture in your head will be totally different from the picture in mine.
I love that.
Try it:
Samson slowly turned his head in Eric's direction, though Eric was sure he didn't see him. His face impassive, only his forest green eyes betrayed his alertness. Those eyes held more wisdom than Eric thought was possible for someone only four and twenty.
From the moment he'd joined the King's Army, Samson had proved to be a surprise. His short cropped brown hair never broke rank--not even after a restful night's sleep. The man's intimidation factor was emphasized by the clean cut goatee on his square chin and the often grim mouth.
Samson was the only man who could go longer without expressing any emotions than Eric. While he watched his Second in command, Eric saw Samson reach up and tap the side of his straight edged nose. Eric grimaced at the sign.
He'd been spotted.
Now, I don't know who YOU see when you read about Samson. But I know I see a young man a few doors down.
That's who I modeled Samson after, and if you don't know that boy, you would have no way of knowing exactly what he looks like.
Samson, in your head, is now yours. How you see him is who he now is to you.
There's your art.
And my art.
This rant was brought to you by Google.
If you'd like to check out the short blog I referenced, here's the URL:
http://tbonecafe.wordpress.com/2008/10/15/the-difference-between-artists-and-writers-or-why-cant-i-dress-like-that/
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