It’s become my habit, after I flip the switch on
the “OPEN” sign, its red light
now glowing in the window glass, to spend the first few minutes of my front
desk gallery hours taking in the month’s new exhibit. Such diversity of
media, composition and content makes my head and heart swell. Amid all of this
talent and creativity I’m finding it hard to
hold at bay the pressure I’m programmed to put
on myself. The urgency to get my act together quickly is palpable.
I moved into my art studio about 45 days ago. I’m still pinching myself, really. Furniture pieces curated, ordered, shipped, delivered and installed, I’m unpacking, organizing and reorganizing, pondering how to create my identity, how to put my artistamp on my very own space.
I vacillate between activities that all feel like fun yet crushing priorities: Spending time designing and producing business cards and creating a signature piece to announce my identity outside my studio door. Making baby shower invitations and starting on my annual holiday card to respond to the business of life. Furthering the sketching techniques shaken out of hibernation through classes at The Art Institute of Chicago. Working in new media and larger scale as I ache to one day exhibit in this extraordinary space.
Turbidity owns the day these days. All at once I am paralyzed by the work I feel needs to be done to establish myself, intimidated by those who appear so comfortable with themselves and their art in this community, overwhelmed by the opportunity just standing in this space presents me, intrigued by the new and unknown path I’m sure will reveal itself. I’m full of pride in finding the gumption to make this happen for myself, and oh so grateful for matriculation into this tribe.
It feels like kismet, landing here in this beautiful 100+ year-old limestone building with its hardwood floors, exposed ceilings and skylights in the historic district of town. The coincidence that the artist who labels her work “sea art” finds a home in a studio on Water Street is not lost on me. Yet I know it is probably time to reinvent my brand as the opportunity to broaden my reach presents itself in this non-profit with the mission to make the arts accessible in this community and beyond.
I recently asked a subordinate for some feedback on my day job and I can’t help but draw a parallel from his response to my entre to studio life. He’s been with me for nearly my entire tenure in this role. He points out that he’s watched me grow tremendously in this position over the last three years. It’s taken a while, but I’ve settled in and I’m now putting together a proposal to reorganize and expand my portfolio of accounts, something we both know I would have never been ready for when I started this job.
I moved into my art studio about 45 days ago. I’m still pinching myself, really. Furniture pieces curated, ordered, shipped, delivered and installed, I’m unpacking, organizing and reorganizing, pondering how to create my identity, how to put my artistamp on my very own space.
I vacillate between activities that all feel like fun yet crushing priorities: Spending time designing and producing business cards and creating a signature piece to announce my identity outside my studio door. Making baby shower invitations and starting on my annual holiday card to respond to the business of life. Furthering the sketching techniques shaken out of hibernation through classes at The Art Institute of Chicago. Working in new media and larger scale as I ache to one day exhibit in this extraordinary space.
Turbidity owns the day these days. All at once I am paralyzed by the work I feel needs to be done to establish myself, intimidated by those who appear so comfortable with themselves and their art in this community, overwhelmed by the opportunity just standing in this space presents me, intrigued by the new and unknown path I’m sure will reveal itself. I’m full of pride in finding the gumption to make this happen for myself, and oh so grateful for matriculation into this tribe.
It feels like kismet, landing here in this beautiful 100+ year-old limestone building with its hardwood floors, exposed ceilings and skylights in the historic district of town. The coincidence that the artist who labels her work “sea art” finds a home in a studio on Water Street is not lost on me. Yet I know it is probably time to reinvent my brand as the opportunity to broaden my reach presents itself in this non-profit with the mission to make the arts accessible in this community and beyond.
I recently asked a subordinate for some feedback on my day job and I can’t help but draw a parallel from his response to my entre to studio life. He’s been with me for nearly my entire tenure in this role. He points out that he’s watched me grow tremendously in this position over the last three years. It’s taken a while, but I’ve settled in and I’m now putting together a proposal to reorganize and expand my portfolio of accounts, something we both know I would have never been ready for when I started this job.
This
awkward uncertainty is nothing more than the hallmark of the beginning. It’s scary and exhilarating all at the same time
to be the new kid on the block. But what I’m slowly learning
about this place is there is no pressure. We are all here to do our own thing, to engage
with the group as we see fit. I will make friends. I will be embraced when it is my time. I’m not here to be anyone other than myself. Assimilation cannot
be rushed. I’m the only one
bothered by the fact that I’m not yet ingrained.
I’m the only one who needs to get comfortable
allowing myself some time to steep in these surroundings and discover my niche. And so it is with anything new. It’s expected we need time to get our feet wet, to learn how things work, to experiment, make mistakes, and experiment again. To invent ourselves and intuit where we belong in the world our passion draws us to is what it’s all about. The gallery is open and so am I.
