I am a writer, I have always enjoyed it. Getting my words, my thoughts and my heart on the page.
I’m an artist. I enjoy cute doodles, city scapes, clothing for all kinds and faces that have one or two abnormalities like pink hair or neon eyes.
I’m an organizer, but not really a cleaner. Give me your room or purse (etc) and I can give you a new thing that has a relaxed uncluttered feel.
I’m a dreamer, whether in my room wrapped in a blanket, at the beach sunning myself and picking up shells or at a park watching the bugs and birds go by, I take my imagination with me.
I am a person who creates a space so that something amazing can unfold. That special magic is mine alone and it has helped me through hard times and good times.
A friend asked me if I knew who I am. Of course I do. I am all of the singular parts of myself that add up to a whole. The things above are what I DO, not who I am.
I am not an arm or a leg, I am me and the sum of who I am is not based in how I express that self. I enjoy what I do, and it can be easy to not enjoy all the parts of that self when I look at myself through others eyes.
I find myself editing according to the audience, all of the time. Which…is normal, when we are honest. An artist, a writer, a person who is putting out something they want someone elsend to enjoy must be mindful of who they serve. We think of art as merely a thing from the artist, but the things that capture the hearth of those around them must keep in mind trends and “allergies”, timing and hunger.
Art doesn’t happen in a vacuum and neither do the people who enjoy it.
…I guess what I am saying is…I think that this makes me better.
And…I also want a space, a sanctuary, an island…where I don’t have to edit…simply be.