Artists come to think of themselves as artists at different points in their lives. If ever. My epiphany came early. From the time I sketched horses in my sixth grade classroom I had some awareness of my end game.
Yes, I’ve strayed. Time off to acquire several college degrees. Raise children. Build a career. But even with those distractions and detours, I worked in the background refining my craft. I cannot count the number of classes/workshops I’ve taken, or the workshops I’ve taught. Probably hundreds by now. More to come.
I found early on that for me there was no point that I thought I was finished, prepared or satisfied. Each new tool I discovered, each new medium I experimented with continued to propel me forward. But I have settled a bit. I now concentrate on oil, acrylic, watercolor, pen and ink, colored pencil, photography - even silver metal clay. Defining art is a tricky thing. I’ve massaged my artistic growth through other endeavors which I define as art. I’ve written eight unpublished novels. I’ve designed luxury homes and then built them. I’ve traveled the world to soak up art experiences and to see for myself what others have created and learned from them. I have an eye for color choices and cultivated the sensitivity. I massage my subject matter to please my sense of color, light, shadows and scale.
Style is another thing. I can do hyper-realistic, but I rarely do. The exception beingcolored pencil drawings and an occasional detailed architectural painting. Usually, though, I lean toward representational acrylics, oils and watercolors. I love animal themes, still lives and architectural motifs. But that could change tomorrow. After all, Art is not a static thing.