I have a confession to make. I was that kid. The one who always got in trouble for coloring outside the lines. The one who, when learning to sew, cut out the shag carpet along with the pattern pieces. The one whose early embroidery pieces have a twinge of red from stabbing myself with the needle. But I loved creating and so desperately wanted to be an artist, even when my clumsiness seemed to be a stark deterrent from that ever being possible. And yet I persisted.
My high school guidance counselor, Sister “I Know What is Best For You” Mary, reviewed my career aptitude test results. My best classes were English, Latin, and typing. It appeared as if my best career path would lead to being secretary to the Pope.
I said to her, “I really want to be an artist.”
Sister fingered her rosary beads, made the sign of the cross, and responded, “That isn’t a job. Maybe you can be a nurse?”
I tried to explain how I envisioned myself in a drafty loft, wearing a paint-smeared smock, with every size paintbrush soaking in water in muddied mason jars. She sadly shook her head, saying that wasn’t my talent and handed me a catalogue of appropriate college choices. And so welcome to the world my inner critic.
I ended up going away to a college that was the perfect fit for me. However, during those years, DIY and crafting were not a thing yet. Longingly I would remember the feel of creating colliding with a voice trying to convince me that all those dreams were just that. Never going to happen. I concentrated on the communications world with the hope of landing a job in big bad New York City. With student loans to contend with, I knew a more traditional career path would be necessary. Art seemed frivolous, like a pastime, never anything I should seriously consider.
So, I threw myself into corporate America and worked for fabulous companies in the publishing and retail arenas. I traveled the country training merchandising teams, setting up and running tradeshow booths, and coordinating public events. I was able to express creativity within the confines of budgets, branding, and marketing messages.
The inner critic was muted for many years as I would see quantitative results of success and I felt validated with constructive feedback. However, I still felt that I was not doing anything for myself. I would look back at old journals and half started projects and I knew that I needed to get back - but with a demanding career and then a baby - me time was just not an option. I had lost the urge to create for myself and landed in a creative block, which lasted for years.
My world turned upside down in 2011 when I found myself in the throes of a life-threatening medical situation. I was unable to work, unable to drive; unable to do much of anything. In between multiple surgeries, I realized I had the opportunity to use this “downtime” to my advantage. I stepped away from reality TV, gathered up my stash of artist supplies, and scoured YouTube to explore different techniques. I started off with scrapbooking and paper crafts. However, when I would try to replicate the examples I followed online, my finished piece would always fail my inspection. The inner critic’s voice became louder. I felt my work looked like a third grader’s interpretation of the artist’s work and I would crumple up pages and pages of work because it was “just not good enough.”
As I continued to heal, I was finally able to do more things outside the home. I started working part time, my son was getting ready to leave for the Marines, and I wanted to seize the gift of time. I had avoided in-person classes, as it was so much easier to say you failed while hiding behind a computer then to hear you have failed in person. But I decided to make the leap and set out on the road to reignite my creative juices.
My first attempt was watercolor class. I realized my skill was in taking colors and basically turning them into mud. The feel of the water growing the color on the paper was intoxicating yet yielded no good results. The inner critic nudged me to examine the work done by the instructor and other students and enabled me to cover my work up and say, “Well, I gave it a shot - and failed.” I still had no understanding that the art of creating is the joy, the result is a by-product of expressing your joy.
I moved on to pottery thinking that would be cool. Unlike the iconic scene from Ghost, my wheel seemed out of control, clay flying everywhere, and the final piece looked like a Dali interpretation of a vase. It was a very meditative process but again, it wasn’t my thing.
On the other side of the studio a different class was going on. As my clay once again dissolved into a lump of watered-down dirt, I began watching the other class. Per my instructor, this was a poured acrylic painting class and he almost sneered while saying it. “I wouldn’t necessarily call that art, it’s too abstract for me, too unconventional,” he said. I took it as a challenge and wandered over to the other group. There were jars and bottles of paint, canvases all over and paint seemed to be flying everywhere. I didn’t see any brushes or typical artist paraphernalia, but tubs of glorious paint literally poured over the canvas. The students would tilt the canvas in various ways and the paint would sing across, creating unusual color combinations. I watched as they combined the paint with latex conditioners found in any hardware store and the colors would morph and assume new depths and shapes.
I had to learn more. I took to this painting technique with a passion I had worried was lost. I wandered the aisles of the art store, picking up supplies, and then watched other artists on YouTube to understand the process more. Day and night I experimented with techniques and colors. I loved that abstract projects were totally open to interpretation. The inner critic would be unable to compare my work against any others. I might have used blues like the instructor, but the way I manipulated the canvas or elements led to a distinctively different result, but one I was happy with and proud of.
The freedom of manipulating the paint and canvas, with basically no rules outside of basic color theory, opened my soul up to an artistic expression that I took to and loved.
Eventually, I would lose my job and our only child shipped off to Marines boot camp. I looked around at the piles of completed works and thought: Well, now what? I had gifted pieces to family and friends and, although they were appreciative, I needed to put myself out there to truly see if my work was going anywhere.
I am not a technology wizard, but I was able to set up a basic website for my work in an attempt to get a wider audience. I soon realized that just having your art out there was not enough - I needed to work it. I learned Facebook marketing, Instagram for business, and other techniques. To take myself seriously, I formed an LLC and began marketing myself. The process was slow and steady but each day I would not only carve out time to paint, but I would also reach out to galleries, competitions, and refine my branding materials and website.
My persistence paid off in ways I had only imagined possible. An art gallery in NYC reached out to me and represented me for a year; my work was in their space and online and the response was exciting and humbling. I continued to research opportunities to showcase my work and signed up for a local art/craft show. I sat behind my rented tables and all my paintings were on mini easels. I never felt so vulnerable. Watching people pass by, hearing their comments, was both nerve-racking and educational. I sold several pieces that day and received a commissioned project from one of the show attendees. Slowly but surely, I started to push my inner critic back into the cave from whence it came.
The art of fluid acrylic painting is almost scientific in nature, but the result is emotional. People would look at my work and see clouds, or a whale, or a wave hitting the beach. There were no right or wrong observations and I loved that people would see things that were never intended but made perfect sense when pointed out.
In continuing to grow my skill set in both business and art, I stumbled across gelatin plate printing, which is using acrylics in a different way, and I began to create one-of-a-kind paper. I combined these papers into my poured paintings, which created new and exciting possibilities for me.
My mindset began to shift away from you’re not that good to heck, why not, apply for that show/contest, etc. My work was featured in two local art exhibitions, in an AARP statewide art contest, and highlighted by companies when I would flag their product in posts. My work also enabled me to be hired by the retail chain Michaels as an instructor; I loved sharing my techniques with students.
One of my proudest accomplishments was when I offered one of my pieces for sale, in digital format, early in the pandemic. All proceeds went to purchasing disposable gloves for local front line workers and I was able to purchase almost 500 pairs to donate. The dying of my inner critic gave birth to a renewed enthusiasm for my work and freed my mind to keep growing and attempting new avenues as both a businessperson and as an artist.
My artistic life is a bi-coastal one. I live part time on Long Island and part time in Las Vegas. The work I do is greatly influenced by the neon lights of the big city and the quiet beauty of the Southwest. It took me years to realize that the very act of doing enables a piece to come alive. Once I allowed myself to do what I really love, and to not harvest joy from other people’s opinions, my life changed dramatically. It has freed me to create with new mediums, to manage my business, to learn pricing, marketing, and e-commerce. I continue to receive commissions from clients and by eliminating fear of failure from my vocabulary, I have been able to create multiple streams of business.
There is always the “No thank you,” but instead of allowing that “No,” to be a personal affront, I use it to learn and step back with a critical eye.
The inner critic is strong, but you are stronger. Being an artist isn’t necessarily my original vision of tortured souls sweating over a canvas or freezing to death in a Parisian loft. Being an artist is allowing your creative soul to soar, to reach beyond what you considered as possible. Whether it is painting, writing, acting…. the inner critic survives in all these environments. When you kill it, the opportunities are endless.
Patti Hodder has been involved in art since she was a little girl holding coloring book contests on her front porch. During her college years she spent a year studying creative writing in London and visiting museums and historical sites for continued inspiration. Her professional career was spent in the fashion industry working for major American designers, creating in-store shops and tradeshow environments. Throughout this time Patti continued to hone her craft and several of her collages and pieces have been showcased in national consumer publications, art books, and virtual/in-person exhibitions. She has artwork currently housed at the Brooklyn Art Library in NYC. She has served on design teams for The Buckle Boutique and The Inkpad (a NYC based rubber stamp store). A self-taught artist, she concentrates in the areas of fluid painting, mono printing, jewelry design and collages. www.pattihodderstudio.com
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