Another Day in the Country
An artist’s way of life
© Another Day in the Country
The latest book I’ve been reading, “The Creative Act: A Way of Being” by Rick Rubin, has been like a breath of fresh air, like meeting an old and trusted friend, and even like coming home, because for so much of my life I didn’t know that I was an artist.
When I was a kid, I realized I had a “particular sense of style,” which was not at all like my mother’s sense of correctness.
I knew that I loved some colors more than others and the natural world — especially horses and birds — more than anything else.
I knew that I noticed things around me more than most and discovered my first creative tool, a camera, which I got in my early 20s.
It definitely was not automatic in any way except that it had a shutter button. You had to set the light exposure yourself if you didn’t own a light meter — and I didn’t. It’s a miracle I got any decent pictures at all — a happy accident.
Then, later in my 20s, I was exposed to the art of painting. Never having learned to draw, I marveled at the skill of my teachers, who seemed to know some wonderful secret for improving my work.
My first drawing class came in my early 30s, as did a photography class and learning the skill of developing my own film. This opened a whole new world of possibilities.
In my 40s, I decided I wanted to actually graduate from college with a four-year degree and chose studio design as my major in art. Still, I never called myself an artist.
“Real” artists were people who were famous, dead, or both. “Real” artists made their living creating art. They could support themselves with their art — something I’ve never managed to do.
Then, as I was heading toward 50, I realized that being an artist is not about drawing but about a way of life.
Robert Henri said, “The object isn’t to make art. It’s to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable.”
Somewhere in that middle stage of life, I realized that creativity is a fundamental aspect of being human, and it’s for all of us and in all of us. The trick is to recognize that gift and encourage it to grow.
The delightful book that I mentioned in the beginning reminded me that “to live as an artist is a way of being in the world … a practice of paying attention, refining our senses to tune in to the more subtle notes in life.”
Unfortunately, in this day and age, the television set and omnipresent cell phone captivate most of us so thoroughly that we never learn to listen to our own inner voice, let alone claim our innate creativity.
My creative spirit has led me on many adventures, including buying six baby ducks a year or so ago.
At first, in my opinion, ducks were a disaster! I didn’t dare name them until I was sure I had some hope of keeping them alive. Eventually, life settled down with five ducks in residence.
Being that the word “ducks” begins with the letter D, I named them all D-words: Daffy, Daisy, Duchess, Dandy, and Duke.
This past week, we lost Duke to a neighborhood dog, so now we are down to the first four listed.
I’ve always considered my chickens to be good layers, but they don’t hold a candle to ducks, who lay every single day without fail!
Suddenly, I found myself with way too many duck eggs. However, being an artist, I had an idea!
We would decorate these big, beautiful duck eggs next year in an art project with my kids at Centre school!
All I had to do was blow the eggs out of the shells without breaking them.
So, I set up shop on my porch, with my little drill in hand, puncturing small holes on each end of each sturdy duck egg and setting about blowing.
About five drained eggshells in, my grandson came around the corner.
“Do you have a turkey baster?” he wanted to know. “I think the rubber bulb on the end would work well to ‘blow’ your eggs.”
“Really?”
I didn’t have a baster, but I had one of those little contraptions that you rinse your sinuses with. Within a few minutes, I was happily “blowing eggs” with a blue air bulb.
“That kid is a creative genius,” I bragged to my sister as I eyed 50 drained eggshells — cleared, cleaned, and neatly stacked in shoe boxes. Come spring, they will be works of art.
Claim the fact that you are an artist. Look around your world and realize how many wonderful, creative accomplishments you can enjoy today on just another day in the country.