Am I Pained Enough to be an Artist?

Two things have kept me from pursuing my writing and art for two decades.

First, I never thought I had enough angst to be a real artist.  It's true.  Most of my artist friends are in a constant state of upheaval.  They have relationship issues, self-esteem issues, family conflicts and they always dress so that there is no question that they are artsy in some me way.  I don't think I'm troubled enough.  When I met the Charge Scenic Artist I was to train under in our theatre department years ago, he looked at me, paused and then said "you're going to be my normal one."  I didn't get it at first, but I did soon after.  I look like a normal American girl.  Nothing fancy.  Nothing that's going to make anyone take notice.  The times I've done more, it felt awkward.  It wasn't me.

Second, I never thought I had anything to say.  Scenic artists are really reproduction artists.  We take someone else's design and turn it in to a much bigger version.  Yes, we add our own techniques and style, but mainly we are reproducing someone else's vision.  And I'm pretty good at it.  But, It is not MY  voice.  And even when I felt like I did have something to say, as an artist or a writer, I didn't think it was just so fascinating that I needed to throw it out there onto the World Wide Web.  I figured people would wonder why I ever thought it was worth making public.

I know there is so much more to being a writer or an artist than the way you look, or whether or not someone else will find what you do interesting,  I suppose to make money at it, someone has to find it interesting.  But artists create art.  Writers write.  Irregardless of who may or may not want to see it.  Even if nobody ever sees anything you do. To think differently would be like asking the color red to look a little more blue because you like blue better.  Red is just red.  If it were more blue, then it wouldn't be red.  Writers write.  It's who we are.  It's who I am.  And, I finally think I have my own voice.