The Steadfastness of Art

and an unwillingness to let go

What’s your deeply buried creative gift? Don’t think it’s too late, or its not down there. It is. I say embrace what you want to embrace and ignore the naysayers.

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As I come to the end of the fourth revision of the book I’ve been writing for 2 plus years, and excitedly anticipate the publication of one of my short stories in a lit mag next week, HURRAY! I find myself thinking about art as a “real job” and the Kurt Vonnegut quote you see everywhere about “the arts making life more bearable.” I concur Kurt. Where does creativity go? dampen, disappear as we grow older, in terms of giving up on a life in the creative world, if a creative life is what we sought in our youth. It does pivot for some, I get that, but for many of us that pilot light never goes out.

In first grade we also had a contest. who could read the most books that year. I read 64 and won. I wasn’t playing around. I still have my little prize, a book about a little squirrel.

When I first started school, my parents moved a trailer onto five acres of dense oak and cedar trees near Mansfield, Texas. A glamorous couple lived next door; they were horse people. I spent alot of time over there playing with their two feral kids; the daughter not unlike the Tatem O’Neal character in the Bad News Bears movie. I have vivid memories of learning to ride horses, chasing cows around their outdoor ring, riding a shetland pony alongside the rest of them. The mom had long black hair that draped down her back like Cher. One day I was walking behind her and the husband, watching it sway. They spun around suddenly, laughing, looking down at me. Was it something I said? It was. I’d made them laugh. My first performance. I realized at that exact moment that words had power. I was thrilled! Had I already been introduced to self doubt at six? It was the 70s. Probably. But as I grew, I marched on to ponder the great creative unknown anyway.

Me and My Cousins and my little sister. I share this photo alot. The bowls, the glassware, all the kids drinking extra strength caffeinated sugar tea.

Like any typical kid of that decade, I’d seen plenty films at the movie theater. They’d taken hold in my imagination. At home, I’d sit in front of the television for hours. By the time I reached middle school, I dreamt of going to Hollywood and making them. In my mind, I knew what it felt like to do that very thing, even though I was standing in the middle of my gravel driveway in rural Texas, wearing terry cloth shorts and toting around a beta max the size of a small suitcase; the thing wired to a camera that looked like it belonged to the Channel 8 news team. I believed I could do it and continued to practice. One of my best movies starred my dad, riding his buckskin horse down the sunburned strip of grass along the highway, me hanging out our van window at 35 miles an hour to get the shot. Another was an entire episode of The People’s Court. Remember that one?

Also during these years:

My mom bought film from the Fotomat kiosk for my little 110 Camera and I shot portraits of my cats, posing them next to cowboy hats. My very first dance portrait was shot during this time. I remember spending an entire day making my sister dress up in her dance garb. I know I still have these photos somewhere.

My friend Kelly and I wrote skits, exclaiming into an old tape recorder in bad British or heavier Southern accents, if that’s possible. We’d click the stop button, fold into each other, laughing until we were soundless, tears rolling down our cheeks.

These are the snapshots of my creative childhood. What were yours?

I’m pretty sure this is a camera I’m carrying here.

When I graduated from Baylor University with an Acting degree (I know you’re shocked), I moved to Los Angeles, much to the horror of my parents. I wasn’t ready emotionally, and didn’t have the stamina to stick it out. I was a 21 year old lost girl, and I couldn’t begin to realize that the expansion of my world began with concentrating on myself and locking in, as the kids say these days. I was all over the place.

I look ready.. I am, however, not. ( I’m taken back to this shoot in Los Angeles, with the incredible Judy Francesconi, who is still a photographer today. I think a woman I worked with in a restaurant sent me to her. I looked Judy up just now. She’s only 10 years older than me. At the time I guess I thought she was 50 years old, she had so much confidence. Her career took off in the 90s, this was 1989 probably.)

Now, after 35 years, and many creative lifetimes, a photography career and a lot of odd jobs, I bring you, the second act. Writing. I am still learning and yearning to create.

This is an image I shot several years ago in Cincinnati. It’s called InFlight. It’s in my top 10 favorite images.

I think what I’m trying to say here, and taking a long ass time, is that the creative spirit that you had as a child is still there. Everyone has a right to it, no matter what their age. You can find your way back by doing something that makes you happy. Not beating yourself up or comparing yourself to other people. Simple Joys. Micro moments. Begin.

You WILL feel resistance, for sure. But, sit with it for awhile, then shove it aside and go find your light.