|"In the Garden" from After the Storm visual ©LisaCheney|
I don't have a day marked on my calendar reminding me that I am an artist. I don't know if I was born this way or if I grew over time to resemble the definition. I don't recall having an epiphany one glorious day. I just know that I can't NOT express what I see and feel in a visual way. There is an ache in my chest and stomach that wont go away until I am immersed in the process of creating. I get cranky, blame others and my busy schedule when I can't sit with my art supplies. In reality, it is me. Only me. There is no one else to blame. Only me. My Ego sabotages my creativity, my muse. Yet She is always there, waiting for me to show up. She is deep within. Waiting. Watching.
Sometimes I wonder if Artist still applies to me when days, weeks, months pass with no art being created? The answer is always, Yes. For when the gates are finally allowed to open, she emerges and can not be quieted. She is happy and full of information. She knows the truth of the remarkable title of "artist" and embraces it fully.