Artist reflections: When we chant a spell
The word ‘artist’ is a spell. Sometimes, it is a very potent one.
Few years ago, I made the declaration that “I’m an artist”, little did I know what I was unleashing. I didn’t know it is a spell to madness, to unraveling, to pain. As the years revealed themselves, so came the spirits attached to the word. At first, they knocked softly at my door, but those that came later showed little courtesy to my comfort. They dug into my soul, and pulled out the words ‘responsibility’, ‘commitment’ and ‘self’. The oldest spirit showed me that being an artist is truly a responsibility, a weight to carry. They explained in their fading voice that to know oneself is a weight, and to share this self with others is a greater responsibility. The middle spirit that wore an elongated body explained how commitment is a binding factor, using time as its glue. She held on to the youngest spirit that looked at me with perplexity. Then it pointed to the mask I was wearing, complimenting how well designed it is, and well fitting to my face. Almost with the last words barely exiting its’ mouth, it snatches the masks from my face and throws it against the wall, shattering it. Feeling vulnerable, I try to hide my face, but the spirit cups my face and says, “feel the discomfort of freedom”. So today, when I say that I am an artist, I chant the words of those spirits. I shoulder the responsibility that comes with the word, letting my upper back hunch over from it’s weight. I lean into the commitment to myself, to returning to my highest version and letting time slowly unravel this path. For those of us that knows about getting to the core of who we are, it is one of the most painful experiences we will have. It is painful because we will realize where we carry so much shame. And shame is a creature that pulls, its’ power so frightening, it makes us crumble and want to revert back to our inauthentic selves.
When I call myself an artist, I call my name. The name given to me by spirit. I learned the meaning of my name. The energy it carries. The way it moves through the world and what it is here to give to the world. I learned the energy of my birthday, my birthplace, the history of my ancestors. I learned the names of my mothers, and the scars their wombs hold. I learned the laughter of my fathers, and when it stopped. I learned the paths my ancestors almost took, and the paths that were made wider, more accessible to them. I learned the reason for this. I learned and I learned, and I learn. I am learning because I am selfish, I am selfish because I am an artist.
When I decide to stop learning, to stop seeking. Life brings the lessons to me. This is the potency that I talked about. Being an artist doesn’t stop because you are tired. No, it will keep cracking you open because you were brave enough to say, “I am an artist’. So, it gives you that bad relationship that makes you question your worth. Or a job that reminds you what picking yourself looks like. Its’ potency digging its fingers into open wounds, so we don’t forget their presence.
Some may argue that being an artist is truly returning back to self. And I would agree. It is in the rejecting, the shedding and the remembering. To be an artist is a deep commitment to self, to one’s own story. It is the dance we have with our chi and the retelling of this symphony through our art.
My question to you is: What does it mean to be an artist?
Until next time,
Uche
