Several years ago, I volunteered at a summer day camp for the first time. I had all kinds of fears leading up to it (the kids are gonna hate me, I’m gonna lose one, etc.). But by the end of it, I actually cried over it being over. I missed that group of kids, my co-counselor, the staff, the camp itself. There was a moment during camp when my co-counselor and I were in the woods playing a game with the kids that was some variation of hide and seek. As we all laughed and ran around, I remember having a slow motion moment, thinking, “THIS moment… whatever THIS is… I want this for the rest of my life.” It was the first time I remember feeling joy on such a surreal level.
I’ve spent a lot of time dissecting what that was. Some of it was creating a safe, fun place for kids to be kids and use their imaginations. It was the teamwork and camaraderie between me and my co-counselor. It was the outdoors, surrounded by pine trees. It was an environment where I also got to play and be a kid at heart without Corporate Adult responsibilities.
A few years later, I found myself stressed over Corporate Adult responsibilities. I’ve always had creative jobs, but those are known to drain people of the joy of creating. To try to de-stress, I decided to dig up a leftover canvas and acrylic paint I had from college, and I made myself paint something without any judgment. As I painted, I lost track of time and felt a sliver of that surreal joy again. Painting actually became something I escaped to because it was something I did just for me.
At some point, I started to have “art parties” at my apartment. Friends of mine emptied their attic of art supplies and gave them to me, so I had tons for people to use. People came over, usually fearful and hesitant at their lack of skills, but would slip into the same trance I did when I found that canvas from college. Fears would melt away, and then they’d light up with pride at whatever they created. Over time, I didn’t find joy just in doing my own painting, but also in creating a nonjudgmental space for people to find that same joy.
Eventually, art became a “side hustle,” and then in 2021, my main hustle, with having a lineup of independent authors hiring me for their books. It was the dream! But I also knew that in order to make it, I’d have to put my business hat on every day and charge ahead. So over time, it became more about business, with what I created being the “product” I’m selling. It’s totally understandable (as bills are a real reality), but also…
In business, you bend over backwards to fit client needs. There’s also no shortage of advice on marketing, monetizing, and productivity to make you feel like you’re never doing enough. You also have to state what you do in such a way that the Important People at networking events take you seriously.
I always called myself an illustrator or graphic designer for the Important People at networking events, but never an artist. Artists are not “business” people. Artists are perceived as “starving” and frivolous… like, well, kids.
At the beginning of this year, I felt like a shift was coming, but I couldn’t articulate what it was yet. In the middle of a mad rush to a publication deadline, I agreed to an art show for some reason. It needed me to carve out time to make personal work about my trip to Israel. I illustrated them because, ahem, I’m an illustrator. A few pieces came out nice, but I mostly hit a creative block.
It wasn’t until I picked up a paintbrush–which I haven’t done since before the pandemic–that I started to have a breakthrough. As I flowed into painting an Israel scene, I felt something familiar–losing all track of time, watching a scene come alive through my signature color choices at the tips of my paintbrushes. Steadily, I realized, this is what’s been missing. I guess no matter what anyone else thinks, I thought, I’m an artist.
I do still have a business to run and clients to serve (especially now that I have an intern), but making more money and wanting to fit in shouldn’t be what drives me. The business I have comes from who I am. I’m an artist. I’m a child of God. I’m a maker of safe, fun, and creative places, especially for kids. I’m a silly storyteller. I’m someone who loves trees and running around barefoot.
So here are my mid-year resolutions: do less “business” and more shenanigans; build relationships, not networks; make the world slightly better and money will follow.
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