Art Adjacent with Catherine
“What kind of artist are you?”
“Still working on that part.”
That’s become my go-to response to a question I’ve been hearing more and more since introducing myself as the newest staff member at the Greater Augusta Arts Council.
How do I encapsulate more than 30 years of circling the art world, dipping my toes in, longing to join the Cool Kids Club™, admiring it from a distance, but never allowing myself the luxury of fully participating, in an answer brief enough to keep the conversation moving?
Over the last few weeks, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time unpacking my personal history and complicated feelings about “being an artist” as I’ve settled into my new role at GAAC. I suspect I still have plenty of ground to cover as I dive deeper into the CSRA art community through this exciting opportunity.
Within my first two days on the job, I found myself attending an art show at Augusta & Co. celebrating America’s 250th birthday. It felt, and, if I’m honest, still sometimes feels like I’d somehow wandered behind the scenes of something I wasn’t worthy enough to experience.
As I walked through the beautiful venue, taking in incredible works by local artists and letting the allure of the art world wash over me, I was invited to create a small magnet for Augusta & Co.’s community art installation.
Yikes.
My horrible, shameful secret was about to be exposed for everyone to see: I’m not an artist.
As I stared at the tiny 2-by-2-inch square of canvas, panic set in. The fear of imperfection (and of everyone discovering I was just pretending to belong) sent my internal dialogue into overdrive. I started over three times. At one point, I even tried to casually throw the whole thing away when no one was looking. The tiny canvas mocked me. The paint pens seemed to laugh at my inability to draw even the simplest shapes.
Meanwhile, my new coworkers, true artists in every sense of the word, were endlessly kind and encouraging. They offered exactly the kind of support someone needs when she’s desperately hoping to keep her secret of imperfection hidden just a little longer.
Eventually, I produced a magnetic square that vaguely resembled a watermelon slice on a picnic blanket. (It was originally supposed to be a piece of pie, but we’re never speaking of that again.)
With more reluctance than confidence, I stuck it on the wall.
At first, surrounded by everyone else’s creations, it felt like my little watermelon was screaming, “Impostor!” But it was mine. I had made it. As the evening went on and more tiny magnetic canvases filled the display, something shifted. I started to see the quiet charm in my little piece of fruit.
By the time we left that night, I might have even liked it.
Driving home, I realized something.
I did it.
I made art.
As intimidating and painstaking as those four little square inches of canvas had been, they were mine. It wasn’t perfect, but I was proud of it. More importantly, I was proud of the vulnerability it took to put something imperfect on display.
And I can’t wait to do it again.
In my role with the Greater Augusta Arts Council, I hope not only to support our local arts community but also to explore and experience it firsthand. I’ve been given an incredible opportunity to dive into a wonderfully refreshing pool of creativity, and I have no intention of letting it pass me by.
Through this blog, I hope you’ll join me as I navigate life from the perspective of someone who’s always been Art Adjacent. I’ll be checking out local exhibitions, trying new creative experiences, borrowing tools from the Arts Council Lending Library, and documenting the journey one step at a time.
Maybe, somewhere along the way, I’ll finally discover the answer to the question:
“What kind of artist are you?”