Not an Artist
Sometimes, my mind cannot process a thought because it would require accepting the consequences of that thought. I imagine this is how psychological, unconscious resistance operates generally. I try to be aware, to dig until I touch metal.
When my mind cannot process a thought, narrating my life, as in journalling or blogging, allows me to surface it at a distance. Sometimes I fall into passive voice.
Right now, this is the narration:
I don't want to be an Artist. I simply am an artist. And though for most of my life I relished and lusted after capital A Artisthood, I have become tired of it. I don't want to be an Artist. I know that is a privileged and rather pathetic thing to say. I want to do things I enjoy, which includes writing poetry, making performances, drawing, making cups and bowls and funny vessels. There's nothing in this that requires me to present or show my work. There's no need to have an audience to do what I like. I needed an audience not for artistry but for ego. Though maybe it can be argued that not releasing art into the world is a kind of egoic travesty as well. Art is not for hoarding.
Either way, I don't want to do this anymore. For the coming year or so, I will focus on making art, alone or with a few people. I will not be an Artist. I have better things to do with my life.
and so a gate is crossed, a decision made, and the narration can fall into irrelevance.