This is an old black and white photograph of my grandfather in the foreground and some people kissing and a baby I don’t know. Photographs say a lot, but leave more questions than answers.
I’m currently working on a painting of this photo and its the starting point of over a year of not wanting to paint. For over a year I’ve been telling people “I am a painter,” and every time I’ve said it I’ve started to believe it less. When I dropped out art school last year, my peers and teachers were surprised but understood the need to get away. My adviser told me, “It happens. Sometimes it can be months, days, even years of making shitty work, or making nothing at all. Its okay, just keep going.”
Stepping away from painting felt like abandoning a child I loved but not being capable of taking care of it. As cliche as it is, taking care of myself had to come first. I am still working on that, but getting better. I’ve learned a lot this year without a brush in my hand and that’s whats important. I am here starting again.
Now the hardest part is over.