“Oh, so you’re an artist!”

….or am I?

I have the habit of denying being an artist. To diminish the importance of my paintings. To qualify them as “just sketches, just doodles I do from time to time,  nothing serious”.

I don’t do it out of fake-modesty.  I don’t do it as a “my drawing is so ugly…-please-tell-me-it’s-nice” kind of thing. Getting compliments on any of my creation is very much appreciated and I’m grateful for every comments. But I do it because I cannot call myself an artist. To me, I have too much to learn, too many things to perfect, too many skills to master before thinking of myself as an artist. 

And what is an artist anyway? 
The Oxford English Dictionary defines an artist as someone who draw or paint as a profession or an hobby.

 If I  follow that explanation, I should see myself as an artist, shouldn’t I? 

So what’s the deal?

To me, I am a creative person, but I can’t quite call myself an artist. When I think of artist, I picture someone more talented, more creative, more skilled. Someone who knows what they’re doing, who’s not guessing. Someone who can touch many with their creation, who can actually sell their work. Someone who’s work can express the most intense emotions and tell great stories. Being an artist is creating values for other and calculating that is near impossible.

Artists have a tendency to be their worst critics, to see what there is to improve instead of what’s been learned. In that regard, I just might be one of them. 

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