Horizons

It is very exciting news as an artist to have someone send you a text and ask you to do art for them, and not for free, but for a serious commission that will hopefully become a meaningful investment to them.

I've been alone in a tower just drawing my pictures and tossing them out the window, not without joy, but with limited expectations, for all I could see was a fog.  I could hear a strong murmuring of appreciation and that was great enough for me to keep my oil pastels applied to the paper. The curtains were drawn, the fire was going, and I chugged along, but suddenly this message suggests I should open the curtains and take a peak.

Horizons, Private Collection, 11" x 14", Oil Pastel on Acid-Free Paper, 2012 (c) Amanda Morris Johnson

Now, there is the horizon that I can see for the first time from my safe, yet foggy world in a long time, kind of like upping my eye-glasses prescription. The edges define themselves way out there and I am surprised that I didn't see what I'm seeing now, before. What I see is the value of my time in other lines of business feeding how I am establishing myself in this new world from the get go. Like dots of light connecting to create definitions and destinations I could visit if I choose. Thrilling to think I could put some of those guiding lights to service.

I've been reading a book, entitled "The Profitable Artist", and it turns out to be in large part a review of what I learned as a writer/editor/instructor/consultant. One should actually think through the plan of working in the artistic fields. One should avoid the temptation to give away work and talent because it is uncomfortable to admit we need to have those bridges, foundations and structures in order to travel to the horizons out there. One must actually be so serious about becoming a traveler in the world that one requires the investment of others. Spending all the time dreaming and creating in the castle tower is very lovely, but shrugging off responsibility in the name of art is simply no good without a trust fund or magic.  And yet...and yet...

As the business of art creeps into my mind, it does create a fearful mote between me and the horizon in the renewed aperture of my mind, if I allow it to do so.  I feel pressure to decide whether I remain in a pretend liberty of interaction in the tower, folding my work into paper airplanes and tossing it out the windows, or if I want to see and experience more.  I begin to look not at the horizon that has just appeared, but now for a road, a path to get onto for travel. I start wanting better shoes and a vehicle with luggage space. I start worrying about trees to get around out there, and bumps and holes, when I haven't yet stepped beyond my walls and feel certain I will get lost if I don't look up again at that horizon I perceived for a moment. The mote appears to be full of alligators with snapping warnings, keen on keeping me from moving into new territory with my colorful crew. I must find, no, I must draw the bridge.

This is what I'm doing to draw that bridge: It is something I always found it difficult in my previous professional life to ask for what I needed to do a job, but when I practiced and asked, it managed to be sturdy and amazingly worthy of my efforts to do a great job. So right from the start, I am being clear as I can be about the whole scenario that it takes to do a drawing - not just the moment of crossing the bridge with a work of art, with something worthy of taking out there, but the fact that materials and supplies are necessary and that time must be allotted for the building of, and traveling needs must be covered for such a thing. Without agreement to fund and invest in this adventure there will be no crossing of a bridge to the new world out there. I let go of the notion that staying in the tower is better than embarrassing myself by being honest about what is required.

Winter Lake, Private Collection, Oil Pastel on Acid-free Paper, 9" x 25", 2012(c)Amanda Morris Johnson

Knowing what is needed is the only way to ask for what is needed. I've spent time researching those needs, guessing and re-guessing the details of the whole adventure, beginning-to-end, so that asking is the best estimate I can come up with, and not just once but several times I've had to correct myself as more information becomes available. I have admitted I am on a learning curve and that mistakes are to be expected for the business end of things. And let's be honest, the horizon will always change, the adventure will always be new.

Taking care of the underpinnings of the upcoming adventure before I get myself to the gates is a leap for me...like tearing through the castle with a list to check off, instead of rushing out there and finding myself fighting alligators with little in my hands but a piece of paper. I keep in mind the graceful bridge, that feat of engineering and craft that will get me past the doubting bites.

It is hard, so hard to sit in the tower and draw while all of this is going on. Ultimately, however, I know that I will soon have to pull the curtains shut, start the fire, and sit down with my pastels and begin to draw this bridge so strong it will keep me out of the mouths of alligators when I bring myself to the gate to cross into this new adventure. Before I close the curtains though, know that I'm looking out at the horizons of being a professional artist with awe and excitement. I appreciate the skills I bring to the upcoming journey. I love knowing that as I move into a new perspective, the horizon will change. I will have to find ways to stop, places to close the curtains and focus on the colors inside. Likely, I will have to build many bridges on the way...but the horizon will always be there.