When I was in art school I felt like a less than capable writer. I determined that I needed to gain more mastery over my writing skills and I enrolled in a creative writing class for extra credit. But I struggled. Most of that struggle was rooted by my British mother's constant insistence that Americans cannot speak or write correctly. She overlooked that she was actually speaking to an American. My state of mind was further hampered when I confessed my struggle to my writing professor. Her stinging response, “Ann, you are so smart. I just don’t understand why you can’t write.” I thought. “What? Why do you think I'm enrolled in your damn class? Help me woman. Maybe you can’t teach!” But I respectfully took the blow and said nothing. Two months ago I sat with a fellow passenger on the plane returning from a press event for the new Montage Residences in Manhattan. We passed the time by making small talk and thumbing through my first bound edition of an Artist's Diary of Deer Valley, Utah. Later a woman from across the aisle asked if she could see my book. Of course I offered it to her and she returned it about an hour later with her business card. She was the Chair of the American Literature department at Claremont Graduate University. She asked if she could interview me for a journal that she has been editing for the past 20 years that profiles individuals' creative processes. Her response, “I have never met a visual artist so capable of articulating their creative process. And your work is stunning.” Suddenly my injured confidence was fully healed. I had not realized that this inner struggle had not yet completely been resolved. How many years had I let other's remarks choke my confidence? I'll let people tell me I can but I'll never let them tell me I can't.
- I can continue to grow my artistic enterprise and meet my goals.
- I can balance my solitary enterprise of painting with social and emotional connection to others.
- I can create an Experience of Art for my patrons in Marin, CA will be better than the last one.