Tuesday, April 2, 2013

In which Tryph is an artist... dejavu anyone?

Even before I picked up my first camera at 10 or 11 (It was a little Minolta 110.  I loved the crap out of that thing.  Part of me wishes I still had it) I considered myself an artist.  Yes yes, I know Tryph is an artist because she makes art with her camera, blah blah blah.

It's more than that, like I said, it was before I picked up my first camera that I counted myself as an artist.

Why? You ask?

Because I've always had an imagination that could knock the socks off most mortal beings.  I was five, and creating epic tales and monologues about the silly art assignments the teacher would give us.  She'd ask us to paint a nursery rhyme, I'd  make one up and paint that instead of using one of the many pre-existing templates that surrounded us.

Even as a small child, I was creating and expressing with my creative skills and imagination.  The many worlds I carry inside my head started back then, and most of them still exist today.  Some have blended and melded into one story or another, whereas others have morphed into a completely new animal altogether.

So this is why I've  always counted myself as an artist, and I've always resented the fact that the written word is often not included as an artform, when it should be.  To be a writer, isn't always the same as being an artist, if you catch my drift.

When I told my therapist my idea of going back to school to study psychology, she was excited and immediately latched on to the idea that I'd be doing a lot of writing.  To me, writing papers isn't really art.  It's a way to convey understanding of an idea or concept to others.  It doesn't involve creative or imaginative skill (well, I'll concede that there are probably times that both of those aspects help, but it's not the crux of what you need to write a good paper).

Blah blah blah.  I'm babbling.

Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you about my kick starter idea.

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