I never really thought of myself as a ‘real’ artist. I’ve considered myself an enthusiast, a crafter, and at times even a patron. Never an artist, though. It seemed like that word was too heavy for me - laden with the weight of true creation and vision. It was something bigger, and connected to some energy in the universe that was too vast for me to touch.

Artists create something new from start to finish. They know what they are meant to do from the moment they are born. They have natural talent. They live in solitude. They live in the murky waters of creation the rest of us can’t see through. They come out of their cove only to exhibit in a gallery or make a statement with the appearance of itself.

My creativity only comes in waves when I’m lucky, and almost always in the most inconvenient of times. I cannot summon this power at will like an artist can, and should. My mediums are not paint, pastels, film, clay, or canvas. They’re yarn, beads, pixels, and old magazines. I rarely finish anything. Nothing I create is truly original. I am a fragment, where an artist is a whole.

I felt like an imposter agreeing to attend an artist retreat, but figured maybe I could learn something from other true visionaries to help tighten my mask. I was terrified to be amongst them. I believed them to snuff me out like a moth running into a flame after the first few hours.

I was shocked to discover these true artists were just like me. They had dreams of grand things that were sometimes overcame by the flood of every day responsibilities. They lived among roommates and lovers and pets - not solitude at all. They had many mediums, many of which coincide with my own, and many more did not. None of them were painters. They even suffered from creative block, too. They had quirks to their process. They had their own fears and doubts.

Yet they were, and are, all wonderful people wrestling with the same struggles and remain passionate, warm, and bright despite them. They create incredible art and inspire those around them. They are passionate and hold a sense of True North even if they take a few detours.

All of us are attracted to the glint of Creation, and understand that we could not live life without staring into its light and trying to harness a piece of it for ourselves. I know now that is what makes us artists. I know now to let that heaviness hang over me, so that I may learn to carry its weight and know that I do not have to hold it up alone.

Vulnerability is the price of entry.

With the weeks leading up to this retreat, I planned a tight itinerary of sewing projects that I expected to completely finish by the end. I was going to be solitary, productive, and have deliverables by the end. It was a sprint.

Suddenly, days before, I realized I was falling into the trap of my normal routine. I was going to do the same thing over again and expect different results. I was going to hammer into myself and expect something out of it in the end. As I pondered this, a feeling of wrongness washed over me. There was a thread of something inside me tugging to tell me this was not the path to take. So, I traveled with a notebook, my knitting WIP, collaging supplies, and a laptop. None of my sewing supplies or intentions. I carried just a smattering of supplies and a resolve to follow instinct.

To my immense shock, it worked. What a weekend of rest and fellowship in nature can do for a tired creative mind is truly magic.

lessons learned

• The flow between workshops, social time, and natural drift into silent independent study was everything. Being in a space with other artists who understood the value of silence was rejuvenating.
• Sharing and shooting the shit was instrumental to returning to a path of creation.
• Play is probably the most important creative tool we have.
• There is a time and place for meticulous direction, and there is a time to leave it behind.
• All time does not have to be scheduled, but it must be intentional.

listening to what creation was telling me

This time away tugged on a thread. Maybe I could be an artist. Maybe I already am. What does that mean for me? I began to dream, to allow the quietest desires I have to finally speak up.

I… want a studio, my desire said.

Get real. Maybe someday, I said.

Until my birthday, a few short weeks later, when the universe opened an opportunity to me and I took it. A realistic way to get a private (but shared) studio. It seems like I manifested it; it came up in normal conversations. A “get real”, became a “let’s make it happen”, and I truly believe I wouldn’t have even thought of this opportunity before the retreat.

So, the studio is coming. The excitement I’ve been holding within me since I was a tiny artist is bubbling forth.