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In recent days (and by “days” I mean “years”) I’ve almost totally dropped calling myself an artist. I all but dropped doing any art work in the sense of things which are simply meant to be aesthetic.

Much of that had to do with a few business decisions, such as dedicating our limited shop space to what brings in the groceries and making sure that the shop is stocked appropriately. Some of it had to do with my sewing and design burnout. A little of it was based on my personal insecurities and various issues.

I’d like to announce: Due to the intense scrutiny I’ve given my bellybutton and life in the past two weeks– I’ve decided to revert back to my true nature.

Let me explain.

Sometimes “helpful” advice and “constructive” criticisms are okay, but unless uniquely qualified to spout off on a subject, the giver of the guff is the one who benefits by feeling like an expert, while the guff recipient gets a handful (or more) of guff. No one likes guff; it’s just not a good thing.

And when guff is totally personal, and goes on for years: It’s especially bad.

That’s what I went through, but I didn’t realize it at the time. I was still thinking that the people close to me were being kind and helpful. I don’t blame those people for stalling me, I blame myself for listening to them. I am delicate, I do have a thin skin and I do my best to avoid getting hurt.

For the past three days I’ve been overwhelmingly productive. I started by painting the coffee table, not finished with it yet, but I did take some in progress pictures and I’m awaiting a paycheck to go buy the last of the paints that I need to finish it. I decided that I would try to do two art dolls. I failed and succeeded. I made one art doll and one art plushie (it could count as a doll I suppose, but I like the idea of an art plushie.) I also cut, sewed and stuffed a few extra doll and plushie cadavers, and sculpted a few female faces from polymer clay– they are awaiting my next Frankensteinian mood to bring them to life.

I feel like a working artist again.