Mini-crisis over here…
My identity has undergone an extensive revamp over the past three years. Yes, there’s the looming divorce that’s hanging over my head like a raggedy popcorn ceiling, but more than that, my career has seen the most change this season.
I left the world of advertising as a Senior Art Director to be a full-time artist. Except my time ain’t exactly full… and now I find myself laying awake at night, doubting if I ought to call myself an artist at all.
Lettering isn’t a love for me, it’s an obsession. But when choosing where to apply it, I decided to pursue public art projects because I quickly learned it was hard for me to function without a project brief. (Ten years in advertising will do that to you.)
I loved, loved being out in the sun in my overalls, getting tan lines from crew socks and clumsily climbing ladders. But the very thing that brought me so much comfort in the beginning—the project brief—is now my biggest nemesis.
Project briefs are detailed and prescriptive, which makes my industry-transitioning-brain quite happy. But because of this, I’ve been functioning as a merchant. A craftsman. This is not at all inherent to works of public art. I wanted to show up with a skill and execute with fidelity.
But now I want to be messy. I want to be wrong.
Having this desire lets me know I’m ready to use my voice. Ready to turn what I’m casually thinking about into what I’m seriously working on. Then when I say, I’m an artist, maybe I’ll believe it.