Art is Not My Purpose, It is My Vehicle

I'd like to be self indulgent and share why I have become more introverted as I get older. Lately, I see more articles and posts on social media about how this world really has no meaning, that people have no preordained purpose. I think these two things are inter-related.

For the last couple of decades I have defined myself as a father first, then an artist, then by my day job and then whatever else. My daughter has become an independent young woman, living on her own in another country. My first self-definition is needing less attention and the needs of my second self-definition are growing. It keeps knocking on the door and insisting that I finish something that I started years ago.

I have been drawing, and getting recognized for that skill, since 3rd grade -- Mrs. Shore's classroom. I did quite a good job of drawing a map of the United States and recreating the cover of an album of Sleepy Hollow stories by Washington Irving. My fellow eight year old schoolmates also seemed to like the clay creatures I would create. There was a girl in the class who was also a good artist -- I wish I could remember her name. She reminds me very much of a friend I have now, named Aleta. This pseudo-Aleta, as I mentioned, was also very good at drawing and it seemed like her and my art were considered the best in the class. More often than not, my classmates tended to respond a little more positively to my work. I liked that. It felt good to be considered the best at something. I drew a lot at home and did as much art as I could at school.

When not making art I would hang out with Peter Goodwine, David Hooley, or Michael Iannacone and we would catch frogs, light firecrackers, build forts and tramp about the woods of Northern New Jersey. It was a good time.

In high school, I continued to define myself as an artist and was recognized as one of the leaders in my grade. So much so, that in my senior year the art teacher told me to sign up for any art class and then he would determine my assignments with me - in any medium I wanted. Basically, every class was an independent study. I would hang out with Mark Johnston, Jim Pappageorge, Brian Huck and Ken Hooten. We would drive around, listen to the Cars, play soccer, play pool in Brian's basement and laugh A LOT! It was a good time.

In college, I continued to be a leader with the art department crowd. I won awards, hung out with cool kids and had a good time. In graduate school I was considered a leader in my class and was the first student ever to win back-to-back graduate fellowships in the department. I was living in New York City and met my future wife. It was a good time, although I must admit that living in New York City in the mid 1980's was challenging. There was a lot of crime and I left The City not thinking much of people, in general.

I got married soon after graduating, moved to Minnesota to teach art at my alma mater and a few years later became a dad. I kept making art, but it took a backseat to my relationships. I was very active in my community. It was a good time.

In mid-life, things got harder. The marriage fell apart. Having a proper studio space in which to make art disappeared with the marriage. There were several years of trying to parent while putting the pieces back together. Friends changed, too, as they dealt with their own divorces, needs, passions... or addictions. We scrambled it all up and then tried to put things back together again. Some friends are still here, but many new friendships have developed. Over time, the things that were important when I was younger ended up not being that important. What I look for in a friendship or romantic relationship has completely changed. Through it all, the swings this way and that, I have come to the decision, like many in our society, that there is no preordained purpose to my life.

Art has always seemed to be part of my sense of purpose. But after a lifetime of not making a living at making art, of art taking a backseat, of people not valuing my subject matter as much as me, art becomes slightly hollow in its sense of purpose.

Now this seems like I should be depressed by my experiences. It seems like maybe I should give up art. But, I think, truly, it has taken me a lifetime to hit rock-bottom and now I can build up again. When I say "rock-bottom" I don't see that as a negative and it doesn't mean I am depressed. There is a point in life where you have to live with your true self and accept it so that you can go through the next doorway. I am on the threshold and I can't deny myself what is ahead. It is happening and I am letting it happen, gladly. Art is not the purpose of my life, but I have been making art for so long that it has become the vehicle for moving myself forward. When you realize that there is no preordained purpose to life you, hopefully, realize soon after that meaning and purpose in life is dependent on no one but yourself. With this wisdom I can hold introversion and focus in my one hand while holding relationships and community in the other. It almost seems like the threshold is moving toward me now.

I don't know if anyone will understand what I am writing, as I said, I was going to be self-indulgent. But, I am on a journey and I think sharing it is better than not. I think it is sufficient for you to know that art is very deep for me.