It is terrifying too. I know that with years of art lessons and practice I’ve developed the skills required to paint what I envision, but I don’t know if others will like, understand or connect to that vision. I know that in the next few hours of painting session my energy will be intense, my concentration and senses at their pick, my phone off, I will be standing up over the developing piece with tension in my muscles, working with controlled hand movements. And I love it, that exhilarating sense of something being born, of colors and strokes and lights and shadows, and with that excitement I will feel how dark clouds of doubt are forming in my mind (will they like it? will they get it? am I a good artist? will someone buy it? can I make a living as an artist?) and I keep painting and painting fighting those clouds, my brain buzzing with non-stop alarms (is this purple deep enough, should I have started with the background, what color should go next, is there harmony, oil pastel or acrylic, is the composition good, is are the proportions correct, is the yellow too red, should I add a hint of blue to cool it a bit) If I use a wet medium that requires waiting time to dry, like watercolor, I walk back and forth like in a sort of cage, counting the seconds, or impatiently grabbing a blow-drier to speed up the process, because I cannot wait any longer, I need to continue because I’m afraid that I will lose that momentum, that the vision will disappear from my brain and I will not be able to make sense of all those smudges. And when it’s done, and the piece is completed and my mind and heart stop racing, and I say loudly – done! I sit down in a slump, exhausted, smiling, in love with the world.
Being an artist, in my mind, means to create, to leave a part of you in this world. That part needs to be correct, to be a true reflection of you, otherwise it should not exist. When you do such personal act, it feels like allowing someone to sit next to you in a private theater and seeing the exclusive movie made for you only. Whatever comes out is somehow very personal, a piece of me that I share with others.
However, I if something happens during that process, a moment of distraction, a shift of mood, a second of blockage in the course of those hours of intense energy pouring out on the paper, and the artwork is not precise, it is not part of me, it failed. I might not be able to recognize the problem, to identify what makes me flinch, but something will be off and I will maybe try to redeem it but it is lost, gone. And all that amazing energy I have pumping in my veins will disappear in an almost physical pain, and like a deflated balloon I will go to my bedroom, get under the blanket, and close my eyes. That taste of failure is as strong as as a bad memory that keeps coming back, something that I am learning to accept as inevitable part of creation, like painful PMS.
I push myself to be resilient, get out of that bed of self-pity quickly. I became a full time artist two years ago, and I learned that being an artist means that every day I do not attempt to draw or paint is a wasted day. Still, picking up a pencil requires a lot of energy, positive energy. I cannot paint angry or sad. For me, a complete piece, either pretty or dark, means I produced, created, in a good state of mind, and it’s a great sense of accomplishment.
There is a harmony and balance in the face of a woman that fascinates me. Sometimes after drawing a face, I can’t bring myself to go on with hair or body because I feel that the piece is completed. As I constantly look for faces to draw, I am intrigued by studying different racial bone structures and skin tones. I love doing portraits and capturing some of the essence of my subjects.
At a show I had this summer a woman came and looked at my sketch of a woman’s head, with emphasis on the bone structure. she inspected it for a while, and then asked me if it’s a portrait of an actual person, which it was not. “So what is the purpose of this?” she asked. I realized at that moment how personal my art is. It is even act of selfishness – I like this vision, I will put it on paper. Others might not get it or not appreciate it, but it does not matter to me.
Artists that create controversial art are the same way – when an artist has a vision she/he must create it as it is, whether the viewers like it or not. Just like most artists, having my work featured publicly makes me proud. Hearing compliments and comments is amazing and gives me great sense of accomplishment. I especially love when someone finds one of my pieces “moving,” even if a stranger says that I just feel like we are connected on a personal level.
My technical skills did not come easily; I studied all forms of art for 15 years, with the Russian artist Leonid Balaklav and with the legendary fashion Illustrator Steven Stipelman among many other great teachers, and I practice almost every day. So to me, a finished piece of art is rewarding as money earned after hard work, and being able to show and share it is priceless.