The Self-Portrait

Being an artist has highly influenced my self-image. For a while, once I started studying Art in college, I started to believe that this was fate. I was meant to be an artist.

The surprising thing though: I haven't been a "serious" artist as long as a lot of artists my age. Some younger, too. It's because Art hasn't always been my endgame. In fact, I almost despised art for a time. I was awkward, amateur, and just not "good" at art.

No, I wasn't destined to be an artist.

I wasn't like Picasso who was an artist prodigy. Growing up, I wasn't constantly drawing–I drew about as much (and as well)–as any other child.

I was 100% dedicated to music, and marching band (yes, marching band.) My parents were band geeks and actually met in marching band so that definitely had a hand in my self-image at the time. It was "in my blood" as they would say.

I was so proud to be somewhat of a musical legacy, I was all in, DEDICATED. I fully believed my soul belonged to marching band, to band, to music. I was skilled in it naturally. I wanted to go to school for music, I wanted to be first chair, to be drum major my senior year, to be the best. It was my life.

Luckily enough (for present-day-me) that all changed. The way it changed wasn't a great experience but I certainly learned something from it. I learned the hard way that my dedication, my LOVE for band, for music, was completely taken for granted, disrespected, and ultimately drove me away.

I learned that passions needed a place to be loved, and given the resources to bloom. It just so happens that my passion for music wasn't given that luxury. The place I was in was not going to support or nurture this burning passion and desire to prove myself.

Don't get me wrong, I love music. I still occasionally play the clarinet and I was in marching band my Freshman year of college. But is music my life? No. Could it have been? Possibly.

I don't think I was meant to be an artist. I think that happens to be the path I needed to go on after I was hurt. After realizing that band was not where I was respected, I couldn't truly ever go back whole-heartedly like I once did. I believe that fate or something being "meant to be" means that no matter what, the same thing is going to happen in every version.

That's not how my relationship with art works. If circumstances were different, I never would have left band. I would have continued on the path I was and pursued music. That's just not how it worked out for me.

That's okay though. Some things could have been but weren't, shouldn't have been and are. That's life, right?

For a while, after this realization, I lost my idea of what my "self-image" is. If I wasn't meant to be an artist, am I doing the right thing? What does fate want of me?

"Fate" is such an unexplainable concept, it's bizarre how I was relying on it to decide how my life was going to turn out, or what I love, or what I'm good at. I'm not the only one that does this, we all do this from time to time.

I can't dwell on the past, on what could've been. That's ridiculous, because I know in my heart I love what I do now. I can't wonder "what if" because the what if's of the past are exactly that, the past.

Being an artist may not be what I was "meant to be" but man, I love what I do so much, I wouldn't have it any other way.

There was a time that I thought of juggling both. Music and art, they are both creative. I'm a creative person. But despite my real love for music, my joy in it was crushed. I couldn't stand practices, and reading music became nothing more than reading some analytical essay I was assigned to read. Playing became a chore, and not an opportunity to do what I lived for.

I love music. But my passion for music is no more.

This is when I started to realize how wonderful I felt staying up all night and all day working on a painting. Exhausting myself in the process of creation was euphoric. Colors gave me joy, line-work was oh-so-satisfying, and finishing a piece was like... creating a physical piece of my love. I was given the tools I needed to blossom in art.

I took them, and ran with it with a passion greater than what I ever felt with music.

I used this discovery to not only celebrate my discovery of my newfound passion, but also say goodbye to a chapter of my life that may have--under different circumstances--led to a completely different version of myself. With this, I created a twelve-piece series called Musical Illustrations.

Musical Illustrations has gone on to be shown in two exhibitions since it's completion.

It's probably the most dramatic goodbye ever. But sometimes it's okay to be dramatic.

Finding something you love on accident, or something that isn't necessarily the "safe" route or even if it isn't something you've been chasing for a long time... it's all okay. There is not a single rule anywhere that says you need to be in love with what your chasing for a certain amount of time. If you're like me, and realizing what you're chasing turns out not to be what you want, don't let pride get in the way of stopping, and turning around.

It's okay to say goodbye to a chapter of your life and move on. It's okay to mourn a metaphorical idea of what you could've been, but don't let that distract you from who you are.

Your self-image may change, even if your passion or occupation doesn't, you will. Maybe for the better, maybe your idea of who you are isn't the same as when you were younger. That's okay.

We are musicians, scientists, doctors, artists, architects, teachers, lawyers, the list goes on and on and on... Humans are versatile. Resilient. And none of us have the same blueprints, instructions, or fate's. Our lives, like our fingerprints, are unique to us.

Most importantly, one of the greatest things I've ever learned from my experiences with music, and art, and life, is this: sometimes when it seems like your world is crumbling around you, it's actually just renovating for the future.