S3 E43: When can you call yourself an artist?
Have you ever hesitated to call yourself an artist, even though you do indeed make art? There can be some tricky mindset stuff and loaded expectations wrapped up in creativity as your identity, but you can give yourself permission to truly own being a musician, painter, actor, or whatever your medium is. I share a bit about my journey to getting comfortable calling myself a composer, as well as some ways to ease into confidently owning your creative title!
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TRANSCRIPT
Hello, everyone, welcome to Episode 43 of Being A Whole Person. Before I get into today's episode, I have a couple announcements.
Free coworking is coming up next week on July 27, at 10am Pacific, and that's going to be a 90 minute session where we practice compassionate productivity together and get stuff done. We'll start by taking some deep breaths and getting our mindset in the right gear. We'll set our intentions. And we'll work for a while, take a break in the middle, and then at the end, we'll have a little mini party to celebrate what we did. It's been super fun each time I've done it, and I'm sure this time will be no exception.
There's also one coming up on August 25 at 3:30pm. And those are both open for signups now. A quick sneak peek into the future in September: I'm going to be launching a coworking membership that will meet weekly. So if you have more coworking needs. And you want to get together with people to get stuff done more, stay tuned for that. Definitely get on my newsletter if you want to hear about it first.
And as usual, the best way to support the show is to rate and review on iTunes or whatever app you use. That's really what does help us get found in a sea of podcasts, as an independent podcaster. I want to spread this message further that we get to make art and we get to be kind to ourselves at the same time, and take care of ourselves. So by reviewing, you are helping me, but you are helping everybody. So thanks in advance if you do that.
Let's get into our topic for today, which is: when do you get to call yourself an artist? I'm gonna say first, my simple answer is: if you make the art, you are an artist, period. That's it. And that would be a very short episode. See you later.
But you know, it's not actually that simple. Sometimes we have a lot of trepidation around telling people that we do art. We each have our personal definition of what it means to be an artist. What it means to you might not be the same thing as what it means to me. It can be a really loaded term loaded with expectations, loaded with, “Am I good enough?” “Am I <insert your adjective here> enough to show my work or to claim this title for myself?”
Even if you have been using a creative title for years, this still might resonate with you because our identities are always evolving. And I know a lot of you who listen are multi-passionate, which means you're continuing to try new things, you're continuing to move through new artistic realms, and assuming new artistic identities. So this is all an ongoing process.
If you do feel some fear around telling other people that you're an artist, you're definitely not alone. For simplicity, I'm going to keep using the word artist as a general word, but insert whatever discipline you practice here.
This is a journey that most artists go through with some discomfort. I think maybe some of you out there were ready to proclaim it on the rooftops right away when you started making art. But I think for a lot of us, it can be a vulnerable thing. So I'm greeting you with compassion, if that's you, and I hope that you can also extend some of that compassion inward to yourself, too.
Let's face it, it is really vulnerable to show your art, because it is so intertwined with your identity. It can be very intimate. Maybe your work is also really personal. Not all of us are that comfortable with receiving attention. There's a whole spectrum that we might travel, and it might not be the same from day to day, depending on your mood. It's also vulnerable to open yourself up to judgment, to criticism to the people that you think might question how legit you are.
Most people, when you tell them you're an artist, they'll probably be like, “That's cool. Tell me about what you do.” But we always fear those critical voices. That's normal, and that's real.
What happens when you're at a party, and people say, “So, what do you do?” Do you answer that you're an artist? Or do you kind of leave that out, because, you know, you have this other job that you make more money at? I used to be really nervous about that question, or I would kind of avoid it. Or I'd give a partial answer based on whether I thought that person would understand what I was talking about and be interested, because it was easier to explain, “Oh, I'm a piano teacher”, because that was more of a tangible thing than “Oh, I'm a musician,” or “Oh, I'm a composer,” because it was easier to get to avoid the questions about something that I felt a little tender about.
Maybe some parts of your artistic identity are easier to share than others if you do multiple things. Maybe the fear that comes up is going to come up in certain contexts that have more pressure around them, but not in others where you feel more comfortable. That's totally normal, too.
For me, as a musician who travels across different styles, and is a part of a lot of different musical communities, this comes up for me a lot. Especially in the jazz realm, which is the area where I feel the least legit, I guess, since it's something that I hadn't been doing, as long as, say, reading music that is put in front of me. Then calling myself a composer was a whole other thing, too.
I had taken some composition classes here and there, one in high school, one in college, and I was kind of doing it on the down low, not really telling anybody what I was doing. I didn't necessarily have the confidence to be doing it regularly, let alone telling people about it. I would get cool ideas here and there or play a wrong note when I was practicing something classical and go, “Oh, that sounds cool. But I'm not supposed to be doing that right now. I need to keep practicing.” So I kind of was shutting it down for a while.
But in 2013, I applied to play at a faculty recital at one of the schools where I taught. I submitted a proposal that I would write a couple solo piano arrangements of Brazilian choros. I'd done some arranging here and there, but those were kind of the biggest projects or the most public that I had taken on so far. I know that sometimes we need a deadline to make sure we actually finish and follow through and show people. That's real, that's fine.
So that kind of escalated over the next few years. I wrote more Brazilian arrangements for these faculty recitals, which felt like kind of a safe entry point, especially because arranging gives you sort of a template, you have this existing tune, you don't have to create it literally from nothing. That proved to be a very good way for me to get a little more adventurous with my writing each time.
Eventually, in October 2015, I was tired of not taking myself seriously enough as a music writer. I gave myself a personal challenge to write a little bit every day that month - definitely didn't tell anyone about it, definitely didn't share anything. But one of those snippets turned into something. I didn't know what that something was at the time, but now I know it is a choro called Anelante, which is on my album that I recorded a few years ago.
What really helped me feel like I could call myself a composer was having this experience of performing it, performing that section of that choro that was finished at the New Ruckus Composer Night, which is a cool event in St. Paul, where I used to live. I think it's still going on. I'm not sure if it's virtual or what's up in pandemic times, but I hope it'll restart if it hasn't.
It was super scary for me to show up there, among other composers, people who were going to listen critically, and, you know, I imagined they were going to have a lot to say, and I might not like it. I was totally wrong about that. It was a really friendly group of people. I got really positive feedback. That was the thing that pushed me over the edge, showing up in public, not just the public of random people, but other people who understood what I was doing.
Not that I needed the positive feedback to say, “Oh, I can call myself a composer now,” but that was huge fuel for my confidence and it's okay if we need those moments of validation from other people. Outside validation can help our inward validation too. So you might have a turning point moment like that, and you might not. It might just be that you continue to make stuff, and eventually, one day, you show people and then you start to feel like, “Hmm, I might be able to call myself an artist, a painter, whatever it is.”
Sometimes I think it would feel so much better if we could receive permission from, like, the official Board of Artistry, and they hand you a certificate that says, “So and so is good enough to officially tell other humans that they are an artist.” Then, you know, there'd be no question about it, because you have that piece of paper, and you know, it's legit.
It's, of course, harder in real life, to step up to give yourself that permission to own the title. And sometimes I question my legitimacy as a composer, because I don't have this long history with it, at least, not a long history with showing people my work, just several years at this point. And I don't have academic training in being a composer.
We can compare ourselves to whoever we want, but I don't really think it matters what your qualifications are, versus that other person. I think it matters that you have a commitment to making art, and that you enjoy it, and that it is part of your personal practice.
There are a lot of mythical requirements that we come up with, that you might hear from other people. Like, you have to be making money from your art in order to say you're an artist.
Maybe in order to say you’re a professional artist, you have to be making money. But again, I think if you make the art, you're an artist.
It doesn't have to be the only thing you do for work, you might think you have to feel a certain way, like you're all in on being an artist, instead of just dabbling while you have this day job. You can have a day job and be an artist, that's totally cool. You don't have to earn the title with a bunch of degrees or credentials or things on your resume. You don't even have to do it consistently in order to say you're an artist.
Of course, the consistency of practicing creativity is super important in order to keep evolving and developing and, you know, be satisfied with what you're doing. But maybe you've taken a long break. It doesn't mean that the Board of Artistry is going to come after you and say, “Oh, you're not an artist anymore, we're taking away this certificate, we're gonna rip it up.”
We might feel like that when we don't have anything new to show, like, during the pandemic, I personally have had a hard time creating in the realm of composing music. I've definitely used creativity in other ways. But I'm still a composer, even though I haven't written very much over the last couple of years.
I know that after taking a long break from your art, it can be tough to feel like you're connected to it anymore. So, the more that you can find a way to reconnect with that part of yourself, just little by little, the more that you're going to feel like that break doesn't even matter, and that you're back to it. Or if you're still in the break, that's fine, too. Whether you're coming out of a break, or you are newer to claiming a label, I think easing into it is a kind way to go about it.
Maybe the first step for you is just calling yourself creative, if that isn't familiar to you, or if the full label of “I am a painter”, “I'm an artist,” “I'm a musician” feels like too much. We're all innately creative, whether we identify with it or not. So maybe that feels like a good starting point. Maybe the wording matters too, like, “I paint in oil” instead of “I am an oil painter.” I do the activity versus the identity - you can dip your toes in that way.
The more stuff that you make, it has this double effect of helping you feel connected to the identity because you're literally doing it more often, and you're making your skill stronger at the same time. Sometimes we need to create evidence for ourselves in a supportive environment, like my experience performing for that composer night, but you don't have to start there either.
You could just tell a close friend or a family member who you think will get it and won't pressure you or misunderstand you. You can tell them that you've been making art and that you're excited about it. They'll share in the excitement with you. You can start by seeking out a teacher, a coach or a mentor, who will cheer for you and be in your corner. You can then, after telling them that you're doing it, you can actually show someone something that you've made. That might feel really scary, but if you pick a supportive person, hopefully, it'll be a little less scary.
Then you can keep moving, you can show it to a small group of trusted people, you could publish it on Instagram, and, you know, not show anyone at first, if that feels safer. Then you can start to show more people later. Sometimes when we publish something on the internet, we're like, “Oh my gosh, I'm so exposed, and everyone can see it,” when the truth is that, probably not that many people have seen it, if you haven't been publicizing it. So if that makes you feel better, you can remember that.
Then, you know, once you've become more comfortable with that, maybe you want to show the public in a more performative setting. But you have to take those steps at whatever rate feels good to you.
Your identity and your creative identity are going to continue to evolve. And there's always going to be discomfort wrapped up in that, because shedding identities and assuming new ones, is often a tender process. You might think that calling yourself an artist might feel like you finally arrived, but I'm not sure that we ever feel like we've arrived, there's always going to be more to explore. The positive side of that is the curiosity and excitement, and the shadow side of that is the constant striving toward feeling like you're enough. But whichever side that you're on, just accepting that you're going to keep evolving, no matter what can be really freeing.
Again, what matters is that you like what you're making, and that you're enjoying the process. you're committed to your personal evolution, and the experience that comes with it. The way that we build our skills is just to keep making more stuff, keep improving. You can look for feedback from trusted sources along the way, but the bottom line is that anyone can do it, you just have to decide that you want to do it, and you get to decide what to call yourself. Then other people will follow suit.
So if you've ever struggled through assuming an artistic identity, and really owning it, I hope that this episode has been helpful for you. If you ever need a trusted coach in your corner, somebody that will cheer for you and help you take those steps, I'm always here for you, you can always sign up for a free discovery call. There's no pressure involved in that. It's just us chatting and getting you at least the first step on your journey. So feel free to reach out if that sounds good to you. There'll be a link in the show notes. I hope you know that I'm always rooting for you and your creative practice, and I will see you next time.
Pianist and composer