On Being an "Artist"

Posted on February 10, 2009 by Phoebe 245 Commentshttp%3A%2F%2Fwww.phoebenorth.com%2F2009%2F02%2F10%2Fon-being-an-artist%2FOn+Being+an+%26quot%3BArtist%26quot%3B2009-02-10+19%3A36%3A00Phoebehttp%3A%2F%2Fphoebeeating.dreamhosters.com%2F%3Fp%3D24

On livejournal, JT Glover asked:

1. Do you consider yourself an artist?
2. If no, why not?
3. If yes, does this have an impact on your creative process?

I dislike the term “artist” and am wary, particularly, of those who do not consider themselves artists but use the term to refer to others. This might seem strange because I believe that my life’s work is creative–that I can make the largest positive contribution to my society writing or drawing or taking photographs or otherwise making “art”. But I’ve found, both at UF and generally, that people who use the term “artist” wield it like a double-edged sword.

It’s a compliment in some ways, sure. It means (fundamentally, literally) this person possesses skills that I do not. But there’s another, implicit meaning there–the implication seems to be that these skills are more like preternatural talents, in-born abilities. To some extent, this might be true, but I think that to see artistic skill as largely instinctive is to do injustice to the hard work that this involves.

I’ve felt this sharply in interacting with other students in the English department at the University of Florida. For one thing, there seems to be a perception of the MFA students as “lazy”. Sure, this is because (in part) we’re a largely social group. But in terms of coursework, we are busier than the MA and PhD students–we take more classes in a semester and many of us teach more. Of course, workshops aren’t really viewed as classes at all. We’re writing poems, or stories, and because (most of us) enjoy the process of creating words, we must not be working very hard. The creative projects that many of us do in our graduate-level seminars are scoffed at as an easy out. It must, people seem to think, be so much easier to create, say, ten pages of poetry relevant to critical readings on James Joyce than it is to write a paper on those readings.

(To this, I say: don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It’s much tougher than it sounds.)

Similarly, I’m taking a class on Childhood and Creativity this semester. The professor (the totally brilliant and wonderful John Cech) has asked us to do a variety of creative projects rather than papers–we have to draw maps of our childhood spaces, create dolls, make music. When I tell people how much I love doing this, they largely react negatively: “I don’t take classes just because they’re easy,” they say. But the thing is, and this is difficult to express because I’ve enjoyed every one of these projects, it’s not easy. In terms of time and energy expended, they require as much from us, if not more. I was talking to an MA student at a party about the class, and he called our creative projects “an insult to the subject matter.” I can’t even tell you how angry this made me, the assumption that the only valuable way to explore a subject is through research, that creative work is inherently easy, and not worthwhile. I mean, what better way to explore the subject of creativity than through the act and art of creation?

And it is work. I have talent–at drawing, at writing–but I can’t help but feel like I’ve earned that talent, through countless hours working at figure drawing or studying poetry or moving around commas in a poem until I get it just right. Sure, I enjoy this work. I love it! It makes me feel happy and fulfilled. But when people refer to me as an “artist”, I cringe at the mystical qualities implied; I’ve rarely heard it used in a way that doesn’t imply inherent difference: “She’s an artist. I’m not.” And this makes me angry. Spend the time working on your art, whatever you want your art to be, and you’re sure to improve, to become an artist yourself. I didn’t spring from the head of Zeus in full artist’s regalia, whatever that would be. I’ve worked hard at it. Maybe our society doesn’t value hard work that’s fun–maybe we’re all supposed to resign ourselves to being drones in the hive of capitalism, or whatever. But that doesn’t sound worthwhile to me, that doesn’t sound right. Maybe that makes me an artist, but that doesn’t make me any different from you, Gentle Reader. You want to be an artist? Good. Put your nose to the grindstone and get to work.