Why I’m an Artist
So many reasons and never enough space
This essay was inspired by Nancy Stordahl’s excellent piece Substack Rebel, where she expresses her refusal to be ruled by metrics, as well as re-establishes her Substack boundaries.
It’s all-too-tempting to compare ourselves to others. For example, many Substack creators focus too much on how many subscribers, comments, restacks, and likes we receive.
I know. I was one of them.
When I started sharing my artwork on Substack almost three years ago, I cared too much about metrics.
But that got old fast.
Metrics are not art.
An Emotional Anchor
For me, sketching and painting have always felt wonderful. And creating art has been my constant self-care companion, my emotional anchor. During my childhood difficulties, I would sequester myself in a quiet space whenever possible to draw and paint cartoons. This practice would center me into my turbulent teen years.
Getting lost in artwork through the phenomenon known as flow is intoxicating. Creating art of all kinds is a welcome process that shuts out external noise. Our world has run amok, along with our news programs. A creative practice makes unbearable times less difficult.
And then there’s the internal noise, which is mitigated by the creation process. With PTSD and general anxiety, both partly a result of my breast cancer experience, I need art. Creating art keeps the disturbing internal noise from running rampant, so much so, that even hours after an art session, I still find myself calm, meditative, and restored.
For me, the very act of creation has also become a ritual. I love my pilgrimages to my art table, as well as setting up my canvas and paints. And the regular brushstroke rhythms and motions are meditative all on their own.
Speaking of rituals, I admire the rituals of poets Stephanie Raffelock and Deborah Gregory, who have written their calling upon a leaf and re-released it back into nature. Inspired by their actions, this week I did something similar.
Soon after writing my calling, artist, on the leaf, I walked outside, where a breeze unexpectedly lifted it up and took it to a place it was meant to go.
Kind of like art itself.
Oh Beth, this is so moving ... much like your leaf! For I love how you’ve turned art into a sanctuary, a sacred ritual, a way of getting back to yourself. And that leaf moment felt like pure magick, a little gust of grace carrying your intention exactly where it needed to go.
And your painting, wow! Those vibrant yellows and oranges feel like emergence ... like something in you is rising back toward the light again. Maybe it's because of my last poem, but Persephone (yellow) and Demeter (orange) came straight to mind.
It reminded me of something from years ago: when my eldest daughter (let’s call her Persephone!) wanted a yellow and orange bedroom. So I obliged. New curtains, new accessories, the whole thing glowing like sunrise. It looked amazing … until she couldn’t sleep because, as she put it, "the colours keep shouting at me!" We couldn’t repaint for months, and it happened to be the year she took her mock GCSEs ... which she aced. Apparently yellow and orange are perfect for focus and clarity.
And I know I've gone completely around the houses but here's why ... your untitled painting has that same energy, bright, alive, full of quiet determination. A kind of inner light gathering itself!
Thanks so much for the nod! 💛💚🧡
Beth, you are a pro! I'm so moved by this powerful article here, along with your genuine assertion, I'm an artist! On a personal note, we've been such great colleagues and dear friends, working alongside each other for decades. We remember all too well what was at risk every time we had to halt writing a poem or finishing a painting in order to teach, to lecture, to grade, to drive to different campuses at all hours or to show up for committee work. Since then I've seen you grow and evolve into the passionate, productive artist that you are today. Your beautifully written essay here captures the strength and intensity of your insistence on showing up to the world with your tools and talent intact. I'm so completely proud of you Beth! Thank you for sharing your artistry with the world.