A few years ago I was visited by a lovely couple who had bought one of my paintings and had planned a trip to visit the Willow Fine arts Gallery to buy another. Their surprise when they discovered an ordinary three bedroom house was hidden well but I can only imagine their disappointment and it is an incident I remember well with a mixture of sadness but also genuine appreciation for their acceptance that I was not the artist working in a paint splattered warehouse sized studio they had imagined but rather an ordinary woman who painted in her kitchen. Their gracious acceptance of my situation was wonderful and they told me that it made no difference to their reception to my work but nonetheless the incident is one that makes me blush somewhat.

Artists were once perceived as poverty-stricken creators, yet in modern times it is more natural to imagine an artist working in a studio, with promoters and agents marketing their creations with enthusiasm and customers eager to view and bid. It Is for this reason that for a long time I would not perceive myself as an artist despite the fact that selling my artwork was my source of income. On my tax return I would list myself as an Artist but in my mind I saw myself as a fake. I have not sold any of my work in a gallery, therefore I am not recognised within the art world as an artist so maybe I should consider myself more as a hobbyist who enjoys painting pictures.

But it begs the question, what makes an artist? Is one an artist because they have graduated from an art school or is it when referred as such by the Galleries or is it decided by the consumer who buys a piece of work simply because they like it regardless who created it?

And then of course, do you paint to please your customers or to fit within the standards of the exclusive ‘art world’ or do you create to fulfil your own creative ambitions?

I confess I carry a sense of shame that I paint in my home, surrounded by scenes of domesticity or regularly have to move wet paintings away from the dog’s wagging tail or from the children as they play nearby. I am embarrassed to admit that often I have to paint using the kitchen table rather than the large easel kept in the children’s bedroom. My completed paintings are stored in my wardrobe or under the bed. It is a far cry from the perceived idea of an artist at work.

Maud Lewis was an artist that did not gain much recognition until after her death in 1970. Before that she was known as the “Lady that paints” by her neighbours who would buy her hand painted Christmas cards or for paintings with bright colours and scenes of nature inspired by her childhood memories for $5 a time. She spent 32 years living in a small one-bedroom house down a dirt track in Nova Scotia and painted at a small table on whatever she could find, from paper to bits of board her husband found for her and then to painting every surface of her house. This encouraged visitors to the house which gave her the opportunity to sell her paintings but at the time, she was probably not seen as an artist within the art world. Affected by arthritis, Maud could not lift her arms so her paintings were usually small, she didn’t blend colours and this gave her paintings a naïve quality. Today she is an artist with national recognition. Her paintings sell for thousands of dollars. Plays, books and films have been made about her and Maud Lewis paintings were reproduced on postage stamps.

I consider that Maud Lewis was an artist from the moment she decided to paint. It is evident that she had a passion for painting, regardless of what reception she would gain for her efforts. She painted because she wanted too and I think that is what is more important than painting for recognition as an artist. Being recognised as an Artist is not an aspiration of mine. I paint because I like doing so. It is an occupation that can be all consuming, sometimes painful, sometimes pleasurable but it comes from the heart. Talent may not always be recognised, but that is not the purpose behind creating. It is not to attract admiration or acceptance, rather it is a form of expression that needs to be expelled and allowed to evolve. I genuinely appreciate all the customers who have bought my artwork and it pleases me if the artwork gives pleasure to others but it is not important to be regarded worthy by the art world or the galleries. But I cannot deny that if I do manage to sell enough paintings to be able to afford a studio of my own, well I wouldn’t complain!