You Are an Artist.

There's something that feels supremely important that I desperately want to share. 

You are who decides if you’re an artist. 

As I have stepped into my life over the years, sharing things I have created, people would ask me how long I had been an artist, how long I had been making. And generally my answer is - that I came into the world that way.

Baby Cory, squashing away at some clay with my brother

And that is inherently true for me - people would ask me as a child “what do you want to be when you grow up” and my answer was always Artist - although it was usually “Artist and ____” ; marine biologist, doctor, dancer, paleontologist. 

But as I grew, more and more I developed this idea that the title of Artist was one I had to earn the right to claim. It felt boastful or undeserved to say “I am an artist,” or when I would show work and people would say “Oh! You’re an artist!” my response was akin to “oh, well, I mean I’d like to be, maybe one day, I’m trying to.” 

Even though I knew in my soul that creating was not something separate coiled around my heart; it was, and is, the sinew itself. 

Putting a title on it felt both bigger and smaller than it was, all at the same time - it felt untrue to do so, and yet in our language as it stands, "artist" is likely closest to.

In high school, in addition to my regular public school art programs (which both in real-time and in hindsight I am extraordinarily grateful for the opportunities and educators I had access to), I took classes in a local art program for teens; Just this morning, a memory came flooding back to me. 

“You’re an artist. Call yourself an artist.” One of the instructors (I’m nearly certain it was the director, but could have been another wonderful human who taught there so I don’t want to mis-credit) shared this simple yet shocking revelation at the end of one evening. 

Claim it, you are. It felt taboo in my body to say; too bold, too braggadocios, too untrue when I looked around at my peers - many of which I perceived as exceptionally more talented, more driven - they wanted it more, they worked harder for it, therefore they had the right to claim it, and I was unworthy. 

Unworthy. That is the crux of it; and so I recoiled from it. But after that evening, with that fearful knot in my chest, I would say it anyway. “I’m an artist. Yes, I do art. I make art.” People would say or ask if I was, and through great contrition writhing in me I would say Yes. Yes I am. 

Even still, 20+ years later, it still feels like a bold claim to say at times, and possibly because it doesn’t feel like the correct word to me, from all my own meaning I ascribe to it and my own assumption of what others may. 

But that doesn’t really matter, actually. I create because I must; I am wholly unwell if I do not make my mind and heart become solid in the physical world before me, even for no one but myself. 

I perceive the world from a creative lens, running it through all manner of possibility and meaning, breaking it down in form, color, memory and story. It fills me to bursting - with love, and longing, awe, grief, sorrow, and hope, and so it must leave me in some way to keep my sane, and then fill me once again.

I have grown to appreciate, deeply, the way my heart and mind works. I know it is similar to some, and profoundly different from others. But I found my way back to Knowing what my roots are made of, loving it and honoring it with an unconditional eye.

And, this is where you come in, without any agenda or even awareness of it (until this morning and then I couldn’t get it out of my head and into written word fast enough) I have realized I consider most people that are in my life, to be artists. To see and honor the way they take in & transmute the world as only they do. Some do so in photos, spoken word or song; writing, if even just for them. Collage, drawing, cooking, dance, collaborating with community, ushering in a world as only they can. 

This dawning came together from a silly question and meme (“Your DJ name is DJ + your greatest fear” which of course had some lovely dark humor responses). I have often wondered, half heartedly, what my “greatest” fear is because I never felt like I had a deep one, or one I could put a name too (I have a fear of falling, of being made unable to move in a tight space, none I would dub a "great fear") but suddenly, with no effort, came the kernel:

“DJ Fear of Leaving this World with the People I Love not Knowing How I Feel About Them.”

You know, real casual like. 

And it is true - if you know me and have spent any earnest time with me I will likely begin to tell you the ways in which I find you to be exceptional as the human you are, and how I see you in the world. 

But I also realized that many people in my life probably do not realize that I, or maybe anyone, perceives them now or ever as an artist. Some are people I went to art school with who may no longer practice artmaking - but to me, you are an artist. Then and still. If you have a job that is more typical or straightforward and not in a creative field (like so many) but you marvel at the light hitting the warm wood floor in your home, imagining ways to put it to paper; or have words burning inside of you to get out - if I have known this of you, in any way, to me you are a fellow artist. 

To create, is humankind’s greatest gift to itself, its purpose and its meaning. It is not something to be earned or granted access to. There is no measure of good, or bad, that permits you to be who you are. It is within you, and you just need to give yourself that permission to do it, claim it, be it.

And if you can’t, if there is something making you feel unworthy of it, not enough for it, then I will do it for you. You, my love, are enough, as you are, to be. You have the divine permission to create, to play, to exist in this world in all shapes and manner, and I am giddy to do so beside you.