Some people are born artists. Some people cultivate the talent through years of practice. And some people develop a love for art much later in life. In any case, artists arguably contribute more to humanity than we give them credit for.
But what they contribute cannot always be seen in multicolored pigments plastered onto a canvas. For as long as artists have existed, people have been inspired to think differently, to utilize an outlet for their own emotions and self-expressions.
As a lover of drawing and painting ever since I was a young child, I have used art as something much more than a simple hobby or form of expression. It has been both an introspective and observational lens for me to convey how I view world around me. Artists avoid convention by coloring outside of the boundaries imposed upon them by society. Stuck in a perpetual self-journey that begins and ends repeatedly, we artists apply our refusal to stop innovating to every aspect of our lives, including academics, careers, and relationships.
By this, I refer to our quest not for perfection but for brilliance, our tendency to wear unmatched clothes or socks, our hobby of writing poetry using a former love as a muse, our creativity in formulating an essay topic, our belief that if we are not satisfied with what we are or what we have accomplished, we can recreate ourselves and hang our self-portrait in a different light.
I made it through high school by finding a haven in the art room. I built my social circle, small and genuine, with fellow artists unafraid of what others thought of them and willing to squeeze all of the paint from the tube that is life. I would return to the art room afterschool, painting and laughing and daring and finding my niche among the wisdom of my art teacher and the acceptance of my closest friends. Those are the people I wanted to surround myself with, the ones I identified with.
As I move on from the realms of high school art rooms and enter an increasingly scientific and technological world, I realize how easy it is to look down upon someone having the profession of an artist, and frankly, that bothers me. It bothers me because being an artist is more about creating something in hopes of making a living, selling a piece of work for a profit. What people so frequently fail to understand is that artists do not merely create paintings; they create themselves, and in turn, they create others’ perceptions of themselves. And it is an act of courage and faith to follow what your heart tells you to do when you know it is the only way you can be truly happy.
I really don’t think the definition of “an artist” is limited to “someone who draws or paints or writes or makes music.” Artists live to inspire, in any shape or form at all. When I took an Art History course during my senior year of high school, we talked about the classification of good art versus bad art. But I would argue against those labels, for they are entirely subjective. Artists’ identities exist in order for others’ identities to form. In other words, the things that artists create are open to interpretation based on the experiences had by the audience, how certain pieces resonate with the viewer.
By claiming an identity as artists, at any age, we immortalize ourselves through our art. Human life is fleeting and temporary, but the things that we create will endure in the form of physical existence and ongoing influence.
When I reflect on the importance of art and writing, a quote from John Keating, a character in the legendary film Dead Poets’ Society played by half-human-half-god Robin Williams speaks volumes: “We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”
So, when you look at it that way, artists choose to identify with art as a mode of survival. Creating is our source of life; without it, we would have few things left to live for.
