{Flashback to Saturday, June 9th, 2012. You see, I’ve had EducatedSavage.com the website and blog since 2008 or thereabouts. Maybe earlier, maybe later. I’ve been Educated Savage for a really long time now. And I’ve tried being authoratative, confident, articulate, not-to-apologetic you-know-people-hate-that, sincere, authentic, informative, professional, and business-like.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, really. I guess I haven’t found a voice yet. I know I have a lot to say and that it’s really scary for me to say it and it’s a whole lot easier to say “Look at this! I saw this, isn’t it pretty!” and flash some nature photography.
I’m passionate about my horror photography – drawing the things out of my brain and into reality (although it’s not all real, some of it’s computer, but I guess it’s real now) and tacking down other people’s monsters.
I love telling stories. I love showing other people what I see when I look at them, but that’s a whole other post… one I might write after this one.
My point is, though, that I’ve started and stopped this blog so many times over the years, and this last time was the first time I ever did a complete wipe. Of course, it’s not totally complete – there’s still the WordPress Blog, but everything between the WordPress Blog and here is gone now. Not that there was anything good in it.
Anyways, the thing I’m trying to say is: I’m reading this amazing book by Amanda Palmer called “The Art of Asking” which was given to me electronically and legally as a gift by a woman whose name I’ve forgotten with a brief note that said something like “It changed my life. I hope it changes yours.” So far, so good, actually. But that’s another post.
Amanda Palmer so eloquently expressed what I was trying to express years ago (about the same time of her kickstarter, actually, which I backed at the time, too) when I wrote the below post. Unedited and in it’s entirety, displayed here, for your viewing pleasure.
My angst, for you. Enjoy! In a sick twist of internet irony, I had to type the next line TWICE.}
I Am An Artist.
Whew, that was tough.
Really tough.
It took me a long time to move from “I take pictures,” to “I am a photographer.” Some part of me feels like there should be an application process to prove I’m qualified, or some criteria out there that I can check off to feel confident that what I’m saying is true.
But, no, instead I had to dig deep and face my monsters – the ones that say that I can never be anything – just to admit that, no, I don’t JUST hit the button, I compose, communicate, handle all the settings myself, choose my effects, see the world differently, and whatever else you want to throw in there to become a Photographer. Somewhere along the line my pictures went from being “snaps” to being “photography.”
I did it, though. I can say it, without flinching or scuffing my toes in the dirt like a liar – I can look people in the face and say “I am a photographer.”
But now I’m struggling with what I think of as the next step. Going from “I am a photographer” to “I am an artist.” Is what I do REALLY Art? Art has always been this mystical Other kind of thing that I never really understood. I know emotions have colors because I’ve been told they do, I don’t know it instinctively. I suppose it’s near to instinctive, now, but it didn’t used to be. I don’t automatically think outside the box, I’m not all that creative. If you sit me down and tell me to create Art, I will become overwhelmed by the terror of a blank page. I don’t know what to do. I’m just someone who sees things and captures them in a way that tells their story. I am a Photographer. But am I an Artist?
Can I be a Photographer without being an Artist? Did I just insult all the other photographers out there by even asking the question? Will I end up on the blacklist now? Are some Photographers Artists and other Photographers not? Isn’t that the same kind of stuff that separates “I take pictures,” from “I am a Photographer?” What other criteria is there?
I don’t know. I just know that Artists are these amazing, wonderful, otherworldly beings and they don’t really care for me that much.
Am I an Artist? Do I want to be one?
