The thought process behind this post came from various places. The title, which the eagle eyed (or perhaps eared) among you will maybe have noticed, is part of the chorus of a song called 'Wake Up' by The Vamps. I heard it while I was driving the other day (although I had no idea it was The Vamps or what the song was called and had to google the odd lyric I could remember) and it seemed to pull together several things that have been gently bobbing about in my brain for a while.
I knew about the art world. I followed the work of those people I found most inspiring, and I listened to their view on the world, and formulated my own opinions of current affairs by viewing their work. I cried in Hyde Park because I so loved the Anish Kapoor show, and I would have argued to the hilt with Tracy Emin because I just don't agree with her. I could hold my own when people suggested too much money was spent on the arts, or that culture is pointless and future generations don't need art and music curriculums, and I could explain why I didn't just love it, but why I needed it.
I graduated nearly six years ago, and it wasn't until a conversation with a barista in an M25 service station that I realised how long those six years have been in terms of me distancing myself from something that used to be intrinsic, that was in my very bones. I was wearing the brooch in the picture, a painted wooden artists palette that my best friend Laura bought me for my birthday last year.
As he handed me my drink, the unsuspecting Starbucks man, nodding at the pin on my jumper asked me 'Are you an artist?' I'd forgotten I was wearing it, but glanced down and immediately replied 'No, I used to be', and something inside me broke a little. I didn't realise that's not the way I thought of myself anymore, and I just about made it back to the car before I burst into tears. I felt a little like I imagine grief might feel.
A few weeks later, D and I were meandering round Waterstones, and he handed me a book: Anthony Gormley on Sculpture, a collection of works by sculptors who have inspired Gormley's own work (who incidentally was always one of my favourites) As I flicked through it, I had the same feeling I get when I haven't seen someone for a long while, but then you meet up or talk and it's like you've never been apart. That feeling of 'oh yeah, I remember how easy this is and how comfortable I am here with you'. It's like going home.
I then descended into a swirling vortex of crap where I felt like there was no going back to that old frame of mind, a melodramatic few days of 'ugh that part of me is gone forever...'
But, I calmed myself down, and then I heard this song on the radio, and like I said before, it seems to just pull those feelings together. I'm not going to share all the words to the song here, you can go hunting for them if you like, but the gist (for me) is that the person you've been waiting for (be that yourself, or someone else) never went away, and you just need to 'wake up your sleeping heart!'
I'd like to end this rather gushy post with a quote from my friend Rob. We were at uni together, and after I told him about my crying-in-the-car-after-friendly-barista conversation, he said this....
So, I suppose what I'm trying to say is, "Yes, Mr Barista, I am."
As someone else who has recently realized that I no longer call myself an artist I can totally relate and feel your pain through this post when you were walking back to your car.
ReplyDeleteI've been working on healing myself slowly to start feeling like I can begin to feel like I can create again. I'm going to start my first project in April.
Good luck to you! :)
Thank you so much. It's a funny realisation isn't it, but I guess now we have realised, we can work on not letting it happen anymore! Good luck with your project! x
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