In terms of art, I was a late bloomer. It’s a
fact that if you had told me ten years ago that I would be making and selling
art, I would have laughed, rolled my eyes, and said, “Yeah, right.” I was
always clever and creative, but my dad was a gifted commercial artist and I had
friends who were artists, so the intimidation to create art of my own was
fairly overwhelming. I spent decades telling myself, “You can’t do that, you
just aren’t capable.” Instead, I lost myself in music, having begun piano
lessons when I was six years old. I’ve had a huge love of writing ever since I
learned the alphabet. I learned to sew clothing and make quilts. I fell into a
job as a florist almost right out of high school. Why I thought I wasn’t
capable of more, well, I just don’t know. I guess if you tell yourself
something long enough and often enough, you start to believe it.
In 2003 my mate, John (who since passed away in
2007), and I were living in an apartment complex. One of our neighbors was
hosting a rubber stamp party - structured much like the Tupperware parties from
days of yore. She invited me to come, but I was ambivalent. I told John, “I
don’t need another hobby!” He encouraged me to go, insisting that it was the
neighborly thing to do. So, I went. I returned three hours later with a fistful
of cards that I’d made and a huge grin on my face. John shook his head and
muttered, “What have I done…”
What he’d done was to open a door for me that
had been shut for so long that I wasn’t even aware of its existence. It had been
all but obliterated in a tangle of ivy-like stuff with which I’d filled my
life, especially my creative life. I fell head over heels in love with the
world of rubber stamping. I made cards for everyone I knew and for every
occasion I could think of.
About a year after I began stamping, someone
introduced me to the wonders of alcohol inks. I thought I was in love with the
craft before, but nothing compared to the richness of the colors and the depth
that could be achieved in using them to create unique backgrounds for my cards.
I spent hours experimenting with them, combining colors and techniques to
figure out what would work best. I’ve yet to tire of it. I sometimes spend an
entire afternoon just making backgrounds, and more often than not, it’s the background
that dictates what happens with the rest of the design.
A couple of years into stamping and friends were
asking if they could buy cards from me. I was flattered and gladly gave them
away for a pittance. My confidence in my ability was very slow-growing. It
wasn’t until after John died of a short, but fierce battle with cancer, that I
realized I needed art in my life. I needed to have that outlet as much as, if
not more than, any other. I had to have a way to translate what I was feeling.
I wrote a lot of it out, but I wanted a way to get it out without having to
choose the right word or worry what someone might feel upon reading my
words. Art is much more subjective and open to interpretation, and I needed
that freedom. Making cards, although still an obsession, wasn’t enough to
release what I’ve come to refer to as my soul gunk. I needed bigger. I needed
more.
I began doing mixed media collage work - slapping paint and bits of paper
onto canvas, rubber stamping on it, maybe adding fiber or little bits and
pieces of stuff. It worked. It allowed me to make a certain sense out of
seeming chaos. It was just the translation my soul gunk needed.
Then an
astounding thing happened. Somebody I barely knew through social media asked if
they could buy one of my pieces. My hands shook as I messaged my reply, quoting
a ridiculously low price which I was sure they’d think was ridiculously high.
She answered back with, “Are you kidding? That’s all? SOLD!” Then a couple of
people asked me to design logos for them; a couple of others commissioned me to
create pieces and paintings.
At some point, about five years ago, I glanced up
at the picture of my Dad that hangs on my studio wall. I found myself
grinning as I whispered, “Guess what, Daddy? I’m an artist.” Then I said it a
little louder, “I’m an artist!”
To see more of Barb's work, go to http://blackinkpad.blogspot.com.
This is Week 12 of 52 Artists in 52 Weeks. Thank you for reading and sharing Barb's story today!
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