When I was in art school I felt like a less than capable writer.  I determined that I needed to gain more mastery over my writing skills and I enrolled in a creative writing class for extra credit.

But I struggled. Most of that struggle was rooted by my British mother’s constant insistence that Americans cannot speak or write correctly. She overlooked that she was actually speaking to an American.

My state of mind was further hampered when I confessed my struggle to my writing professor.  Her stinging response, “Ann, you are so smart.  I just don’t understand why you can’t write.”  I thought. “What? Why do you think I’m enrolled in your damn class? Help me woman.  Maybe you can’t teach!”  But I respectfully took the blow and said nothing.

Two months ago I sat with a fellow passenger on the plane returning from a press event for the new Montage Residences in Manhattan.  We passed the time by making small talk and thumbing through my first bound edition of an Artist’s Diary of Deer Valley, Utah.

Later a woman from across the aisle asked if she could see my book.  Of course I offered it to her and she returned it about an hour later with her business card.  She was the Chair of the American Literature department at Claremont Graduate University.

She asked if she could interview me for a journal that she has been editing for the past 20 years that profiles individuals’ creative processes.  Her response, “I have never met a visual artist so capable of articulating their creative process. And your work is stunning.”

Suddenly my injured confidence was fully healed. I had not realized that this inner struggle had not yet completely been resolved. How many years had I let other’s remarks choke my confidence?

I’ll let people tell me I can but I’ll never let them tell me I can’t.

• I can continue to grow my artistic enterprise and meet my goals.
• I can balance my solitary enterprise of painting with social and emotional connection to others.
• I can create an Experience of Art for my patrons in Marin, CA will be better than the last one.

I can and I will.

The common romantic perception of my life as an artist is that I must spend about:

• 80% of my time painting leisurely in a lovely landscape, breathing in the fresh air, sunning myself with a glass of wine in one hand and paint brush in the other hand
• Then I spend 15% of my time going to parties and receptions where my work is applauded and admired and sold, every time
• and then I spend the remaining 5% of my time involved in naughty exploits that us artists are oh so famous for

Well… maybe I shouldn’t kill the myth.  It’s so sexy and intriguing. The fact is that I too often experience the push and pull of my creative muse, an internal battle with my own motivation and inspiration.

It’s not uncommon for artists to struggle with their own desire to create.  There are so many distractions and higher concerns that tug at one’s attention.  Bills must be paid, leads followed up on for future business, previous projects completed.  Painting can get pushed aside.  Yet it’s at the core of everything I’m about.

The buzz killing reality is that I spend about 10% maybe 12% of my time actually painting. The rest of my time and energy is devoted to running a challenging business and devising ways to grow this unusual enterprise.

Even though I haven’t performed the bean counting exercise of logging my actual creative time, my sense is that creative time is increasing. That’s the good news; my muse will continue to have more physical and psychic space to do her thing and to complete the series that I’m creating just over the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin.