The A Word

Some labels are easy to accept, to claim for oneself.

Hi, I’m Dr. Wolfe. I’m an English professor.
I’m a freelance editor.
I’m a translator.
I’m an author. I write Westerns.
I’m a singer, when health permits.
I’m an American. I’m a Texan.
I’m a Christian.

Some may not be pleasant, but there’s a degree of power in accepting them.

I have several chronic illnesses. I battle depression and anxiety.

But there’s one label I’ve been reluctant to claim for a host of reasons. People have certain preconceptions about what it means that don’t fit me at all–what one does, how one does it, how such a person acts and dresses, etc. I don’t have credentials or (much) formal training. I’m not as good at it as some people, as I want to be.

Tonight, though, as I’ve been working on pencil drafts for a project I’ll post more about later, it suddenly struck me that none of those objections really matter. I’ve been experimenting–just noodling!–and getting some results that, on the whole, I’ve been quite happy with. So I think I can finally take a deep breath and say it:

Hi, I’m Elisabeth, and I’m an artist.