Over the last few weeks, I have spent a considerable amount of time thinking about my art and the impending approach of the last year of my thirties. Looking back at the first thirty-eight years and my creative journey through them, I have drawn some new conclusions.
First, I have allowed fear, anger, doubt and insecurity to overpower my creative self. Again and again, I've talked myself out of following or believing what my instinct has steered me toward. The result being that countless ideas have been lost, countless opportunities squandered.
Second, everything that I have ever set my mind to accomplishing and been willing to work for, I have accomplished. From traveling abroad to being on an Emmy winning team and a bunch of stuff in between. Therefore, I see no reason why I shouldn't be able to make a living with my art.
I have the key ingredients... talent, ambition, creativity, desire and passion. I edit film, paint, draw, write, sculpt and have a decent eye for photography. I work in a broad range of medium, style and technique. I push myself constantly to explore, take risks and challenge myself creatively.
Furthermore, I recognize that while I may be "a Jack of all trades, master of none"... I don't need to be. Art is purely subjective. Therefore, it doesn't need to be "perfect" and seldom is. At best, "good" art is aesthetically pleasing or otherwise interesting, maybe even both... but is rarely perfect. Generally speaking, most art that is technically "perfect" is little more than advertising, and that's a road I have no need to travel.
So it is with all of this in mind that I look ahead, to the end of my thirties, the rebirth of my creative self and the uncertain future before me. It's all just a blank canvas for me to explore and express, however imperfectly I might.