An artist without any art.
My mom has several empty wine bottles on her deck; each painted with various vines and summer flowers and filled with fairy lights that she likes to turn on at night to impress her friends. I saw them once in a chachki store at the beach and copied the idea as a mother’s day gift when I was 16. My mom thinks they are the relics of a great artist.
There is file on my old computer that was recovered from my very first webbook when I was 13. All of the files are in a first generation notepad software that is impossible to open on any piece of technology made after 2015. But every file contains pages upon pages of various full length novels, screenplays, Harry Potter fan fiction and song lyrics I didn’t have any musical talent to do anything with. Together they compile my first anthology that no one will ever read.
I have a chest of drawers in my apartment that I keep various stickers, glue guns and expensive paint I stole from the art teacher who left my school last December. Sometimes I cover my coffee table in newspaper and lay out all my materials only to turn on the tv and neglect the mess for a few days.
When I was in college I used to film highlight tape for my school’s football team. And I was very good. I was the only camera on the field that caught when our leading running back did a front tuck over the offensive line getting him over his 2,000 yard career milestone and a nomination for the Heisman trophy. ESPN ran the tape but I was not credited.
This past fall, I traveled with 10 students and 2 other teachers on a service trip to North Carolina. I filmed the entire trip getting great shots of my kids hammering away and giving back to the community. I edited it all together into a video that I wanted to show my staff, but we ran out of time during PD and no one wanted to stay late the extra 5 minutes to watch it. It contains copyrighted music so it can’t live anywhere online and remains a file on my desktop.
Sometimes, when I’m procrastinating and feeling anxious, I’ll move all my furniture around. I have a very specific knack for furniture arranging. I’ve offered the service to several friends who have all declined. I’m still waiting to hear from IKEA.
I like to read and I like to write; I like to go to art museums and I love film. I engage with art quite frequently. I want to talk about it and immerse myself in it. All kinds of art as well. I’m constantly awed by the creative that is discovered every single day. Every season when the Tony’s and then the Emmy’s and then the Golden Globes and then finally the Academy Awards are broadcast I watched in suspense as various artists climb the stage to give their acceptance speech. And I always think to myself, wow I can’t wait for that to be me next year. I know I’ll win for best writing, but an acting AND a directing nom is just so humbling. I’ll thank my family and my “team” and the production and then I’ll move into a really motivating and heart-wrenching speech about where I was a year ago and how you can make your dreams happen too. And I’ll end with a witty comment about how my mom always told me I was a good writer when I demanded she type my readings logs in the third grade. I’m tearing up just thinking about it but I don’t want my makeup to run. I’m sure I’ll eventually earn the acting and directing awards but I know not to set any time limits on myself or my imaginary career. It is just so hard to be so famous and valued for my work.
It’s also hard to live a lie. I’ll label myself an artist. And in my imagination, I am one. James Baldwin says artists have to reveal the darkness that man is afraid of. Baldwin says it is our responsibility as artists to do this for society but he also says that artists have to fight this responsibility, be at odds with it at all times. In doing this we can ensure that as our world and our contexts change we remain aware of this responsibility and see to it that it is met. In my head I’m constantly wiping away the metaphorical rain on my brain windshield. I’m attempting to open my mind to what reality needs me, the artist, to see. But in doing so I realize I’m not clearing the windshield, I’m painting it, covering it back up. Probably with the expensive paint I stole from that art teacher.
What I’ve done isn’t art. It’s crafts. I’d even say it’s a hobby if I did it more than once a decade. I internalize this artistic persona and dare I say, artistic talent, painting it on the windshield of my potential. Rather than pursuing anything legitimate I just imagine it and hope for the best, which ironically is how I also drive because my real windshield has a splotch on the inside I can’t get off.
I am not the artist Baldwin wants me to be. And I’m really overwhelmed with responsibility since I have a play, TV show and movie coming out soon that I haven’t starting drafting. My football highlight of college bros pretending they’re going to the NFL will never be seen again. I’ll probably take the paint out a few more times this summer, just to put it all back away. I recently moved my couch 90 degrees and I hate it, so IKEA is definitely a bust. I’m on my second summer of writing essays that will never be resurrected past their due date and reader response groups. But at the end of the day, my mom loves her painted wine bottle lights for her deck. And she can tell her friends that her daughter painted them.
Thanks for finding my art.