Pondering my artisticness

Is that even a word? See, if I were truly an artist, I wouldn't care. Actually, I don't care, but my inner critic has one loud mouth, so I have to ask, but not change the question. I've been in a bit of a creative funk lately. Nothing is stirring my passion like it usually does. Partly, I blame this wacky weather. It's October. And 90 degress out. My autumnal creative spurt is clearly confused. Instead of getting all artsy and crafty, I'm self-doubting. Never good. I haven't sewn anything in weeks because it just doesn't seem good enough. I haven't photographed anything other than my cousin's newborn and my knitting in months. The newborn would only be a newborn for a few weeks, so that was necessity (and I still feel like I wasn't at my best for the shoot, although most non-photographers probably can't tell). Knitting is one of the few areas in which I continue to create. I'm using it to explore my need for wild, crazy colors (which are only wild and crazy in my head. In reality, they're quite tame, but I feel funky so it counts).

Last night we went to see my cousin's band play at this arts center. Dh and I, by virtue of his music major and my graphic design/creative writing major, were part of that crowd back when we first got married. He still loves that scene. And I do too, in theory. In reality, however, it seems to just remind me that I'm not that creative. I like to make artsy things with my hands and I recognize art and beauty and all that, but I just don't seem to have same perspective as the true artists who I admire so much. I'm working on being okay with that and at the same time challenging myself to break out of my safe little comfort zone.

As I explained to my husband, consider the cooking world. Haute cuisine is admired by the elite, but it's not really approachable or useful for most people. I am comfort food to the art world. Nothing's wrong with it. You'll get full and feel good, but it won't usually get any critical acclaim. And who needs it? The critics think some strange stuff is good.

The problem is, I'm kind of bored with myself. That sounded dumb and angsty, didn't it? Like there aren't bigger problems on this Earth. Okay, I'm being a whiny brat. I think I'll stop whining now and get up and do something.