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Who is allowed to be called an artist?

Text that says: Who is allowed to be called an artist? on top of a picture of a flutist

When I was a kid, my favorite thing to do was arts & crafts. My older next-door neighbor taught me how to sew, I loved to draw in my sketchbook and make things out of paper, I crocheted tiny wallets and scarves, and I took refuge in art classes in high school.


Since childhood, I've always considered myself an artist, but it's only been since I've been an adult that I've questioned my label. It's not that I don't think I'm an artist -- I firmly believe that anyone who creates things (music, poetry, paintings, fiber arts, food etc.) is an artist, and that anyone can claim that label. But I've found myself under-qualifying my abilities when I tell people about my current visual art endeavors.


In contrast, it feels easy to claim that I'm a professional flutist and flute teacher because 1) I have 2 degrees in flute and education, 2) I get paid to do them, and 3) I know I'm very good at them. The combination of these 3 makes me feel secure in my titles, even though degrees and payments don't directly correlate to how "good" you are at anything.


My art practice has always been a huge part of my life, but it has only been as a working adult that I've started comparing how "flawed" or inexperienced-in-a-way-that-proves-I'm-not-a-Real-Artist my art feels next to extremely skilled and/or professional artists. I haven't (yet!) invested as many hours and hours of practice and growth that these highly skilled painters and quilters have. Because of this, I must proclaim about my art projects, "Well, obviously this isn't THAT good" because wouldn't it be embarrassing or delusional or cocky to be outwardly proud of something when other people are better at it? (Heavy sarcasm)


I know that when I put the time in, I can gain more detailed skills and create art that's even more satisfying to make, but it still stirs up emotions in me when I realize how many steps behind I am from more advanced artists.


I draw these parallels between my experience as an amateur artist and my adult students' experience as amateur musicians. I hear it in their voices, dripping with disappointment when they recall the child prodigy flutist they listened to on YouTube, or when they exclaim, "Well, I'm not trying to be a professional musician or anything [so what I'm doing doesn't count as music]..."


There's an unnecessary amount of comparison and shame, and a strange conclusion that you can't call yourself something unless you get paid for it, or you're already "good" at it, as opposed to actively practicing and improving and investing time and creative energy into it.


If a child told you they were an artist, you would believe them. No matter what their art looked like, what their music sounded like, what their food tasted like.


Being an artist or a musician is an expedition. It doesn't end, and there isn't a point somewhere in the middle when you get to claim the title. You just are. By practicing art, you are an artist.


By practicing art, you are an artist.

When you put quality time into your art/music, you will see results. Sometimes, the roadblocks you encounter reach the capacity of your knowledge, and you'll need to turn to an expert for help, whether that's through a YouTube video that gives you a few helpful tips, a class with hands-on experience, or a teacher who can give you individualized feedback, support, and a plan to help you feel the way you want to feel with your instrument or paintbrush.


When I teach adult students (a majority of my students, by the way!), I can hear their shame when they admit they don't know something about music theory or flute technique that they think they should know.


I often ask, "Why should you know this?"


The answer?


Usually, whether they can verbalize it or not: "Because I'm an adult."


I'm not sure who told us that we're supposed to be competent at everything by the time we turn 25, but we absolutely must accept that there is always more to learn. Learning is growth, learning is possibility, learning is divine, and in order to love our art, we have to embrace the vulnerability of not knowing - YET.


I ask my students, of all ages, "How would you know this before ever learning it?"


In order to love our art, we have to embrace the vulnerability of not knowing - YET.


Adult musicians: if this message resonated with you, I know that you'll love the ​Mindful Practice Room​, an online community practice space for musicians that I facilitate with practice prompts, reflection questions, and accountability. ​Sign up here for a free 30-day trial​!



If you find my writings useful, consider supporting my work by buying me a coffee.

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