Why am I an Artist?

Unwise Men, 19 x 23" framed

Why am I an artist?

People do ask me this. I never seem to have a proper answer. I will attempt to answer here.

• Constant desire (need) to create.
• Skills toolbox empty except for a couple of mismatched screws rolling around.
• End of the road – if I can’t make this work, then I feel there’s nothing left to be done. While what I create may change, the fact that I must create will not (unless I am dead). I guess I can sum this one up by stating “art or death.”
• Don’t work well with others.

Are these crappy reasons to be an artist? Probably three out of the four reasons are crappy. But they are my reasons.

Perhaps I could add a fifth reason: my childlike wonder of the world. In grade school, my mother called this immaturity. I had no response to that. Except to lose even more self-confidence. Today, I would argue that, no, it is indeed childlike wonder of the world around me. It fascinates me so much that I could not possible concentrate on filling up squares on a spreadsheet.

One reason not mentioned would be to get rich. Didn’t Thomas Kinkade get rich? I’m sure there are others. For some reason, the wealth is not flowing. Could be that my childlike wonder gets in the way of marketing and business sense? Money is definitely NOT a good reason.

Fear could be a reason. It could be that I have a fear of the “real world”. That place where people drive to corporate campuses and wind their way down “hallways” of carpeted boxes until they reach their cubicles. At this point in my life, trying to insert me into a cubicle would be like trying to insert a cat into a whirlpool bath.

Latent agoraphobia?

Fear of disappointing people other than myself?

Lack of business attire?

If anyone has a good reason, please submit it. I need better talking points.