Art is something that captivates me on a level that I find difficult to articulate. Still, I DO try in poetry…yet satisfaction continually fails to meet my perfection halfway. I am left with only release.
I bring it up, because my husband’s heart would not skip a beat if art weren’t in the world.
Yet, I. am. Art.
I am uninhibited, inspired creativity when at my best.
Hubby? Well, he is brilliant in other ways. He can think *creatively* for business solutions or find ingenious ways to make money. Oh, he has the ability to give *objective opinions* on art, but-but-but it doesn’t touch him, connect to him, or agitate him AT ALL. Of course, it doesn’t help that I judge this lack of outward adoration as inferior to my exuberant joy! Without trying to sound melodramatic (yeah right), it’s like he is a caterpillar who only eats leaves. Booooooo-ring.
Most of my life I have spent heavily floating just outside ART’s concepts. Art was an expression I yielded to that would, at times, consume me. I wrote and directed plays. When I couldn’t find the right actress, I would star myself. I wrote songs, which painfully obligated me to teach myself to play piano. Then I sang them. Alone. In front of the kids. In front of masses. Singing, singing, singing. Then there was the painting. And listening to God’s voice was never far off from this inspiration. Photography, writing, music, dance. Sigh. SO much to do, so little time.
Still even now, my artistic talent is/was mostly ignored by my husband. Not deliberately. I mean, he doesn’t consciously think, “That’s uninteresting. I should ignore her.” It is more like, “Oh.” For example, I just finished a painting I started over a year ago and his comment was, “When was the last time you worked on THAT?!”
He couldn’t bring himself to say a single word about what he thought about the painting. But we learned to manage the silence together. I thought it kept me from getting a large ego (which–bonus– remains non-existent to this day), and he could steer clear of saying “the wrong thing.”
When I have told him that I desperately needed him to acknowledge “me,” he could understand why, and he really did want to do better. However, all he could manage is, “You are so…” and “What’s wrong with me?!”
Now that a year has floated by mostly artless (except for poetry), I have thrown caution to the wind once again. Welcome, Art. I have missed you.
Perhaps you’ve already noticed. I am ready. Again. To express. To live. To play. To thrive. To project. Create. I come alive when I feel free to do these things, and they are acknowledged by someone I love.
My husband would like to see me making money doing what I enjoy most. His intentions are as pure as gold. He doesn’t mean to kill my spirit when he says it. He’s trying to encourage me. I guess it’s probably the highest praise I receive from him! “You should do this for money.” After all, it means he thinks that I COULD “do this for money.” The problem is…doing ANYTHING for money makes it a friggin’ JOB. And a job is not ART. If it was, would someone please hire me right now to twirl scenery into their carpet fibers? If I had a job doing art, I would convince myself that money didn’t matter just so that I could keep inspiration flowing. Money is the antithesis of art. Bitter, aren’t I.
But. But. But. Not having him be able to FEEL the beauty of what I create and allow it to affect him drifts like *unsettled air* between us.
What can I do? Art is a powerful force inside of the makeup of who I am. I cannot rely on my husband to “see me” before I continue. Yet, if I move without his “adoration” then I become vulnerable to the praises of others. Others who get it. Who take time to understand and feel. Who know what I cannot say. Who read between the lines. Who soak in the words.
Is this normal? I doubt two artists ever married each other. It could never work. I’m convinced they would be so connected they would just have sex all the time and never get any projects done. Ever.
I can’t even begin to explain how I need my husband to see me. Yet I cannot die trying.
“Is it easier to have inflated dreams or an inflated ego…?”