Lately, I have been seeing a lot of sip and paint events
around Nairobi. They look fun… honestly, something I would probably enjoy doing
myself just for the experience. But watching them has also made me think.
Sometimes it almost feels like there is no seriousness left
in being an artist.
I see the paintings people make at these events and the way
the activity is treated as something casual, a hobby, an evening out, something
to pass the time. It almost makes me feel like everyone can paint. Give
someone a brush, some paint, and whatever they produce is considered art.
And maybe it is.
After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
So, then the question starts creeping in: what actually
makes an artist an artist?
Is it talent?
Is it training?
Is it whether people buy your work?
Or whether you can make a career out of it?
If you create but you cannot sell your work, does that mean
you are not an artist?
That question sits with me sometimes.
Unlike professions like medicine or law, creativity does not
come with clear measurements. A doctor is a doctor because they studied,
trained, and qualified. But with art, there is no universal certificate that
says you are officially an artist now.
Anyone can look at your work and decide they do not like it.
Someone else might see the same piece and feel something deeply.
So, who decides?
Also, as a photographer, I often think about photography.
Today, everyone carries a camera in their pocket. Every
phone can take a picture. But not every photo is taken with intention. Not
every image is trying to say something.
So, what turns that ability into a craft?
When does someone with a camera become a photographer?
Maybe the same question exists with every form of
creativity.
Being an artist feels emotional because the work is never
separate from you. Your thoughts, your feelings, your perspective, they all
find their way into what you create.
And when someone criticizes that work, it can feel strangely
personal. Almost as if they are criticizing a part of you.
There are times I have even thought it might be easier to
focus on something I am good at but not emotionally tied to. Something where my
identity isn't trapped in the result.
Art does not allow that kind of distance.
Then I think about something else.
I am always writing things down, capturing thoughts. Turning
them into content.
Who says I am not a writer?
Who determines that?
The more I think about it, the more I realize something
about myself: I like preserving moments. Whether through images or words… I
like capturing my thoughts before they disappear.
Almost like keeping time inside a glass jar.
The way a painting or photograph might… words become a way
to hold onto something that would otherwise pass.
A memory.
A feeling.
A realization.
And when I look back at something I wrote, captured, or
painted months or years ago, it becomes a path of remembrance, a way of seeing
who I was at that moment.
Maybe that is what artists are doing.
We are trying to capture something that would otherwise
disappear.
Sometimes that capture interrupts the moment itself. We
pause life to photograph it, paint it, write it, record it.
But maybe that interruption is part of the process.
Maybe art is simply the act of paying attention to
something long enough to preserve it.
So what makes an artist an artist?
I think it might be this:
An artist is someone who gives meaning to what they create.
Not because everyone else sees it.
But because they do.
The moment you decide that what you are creating matters,
that it carries a thought, a feeling, a memory, or a perspective, you have
already stepped into the role.
The world may recognize it or it may not.
People may buy it or they may not.
But the act itself, the intention to capture, express, and
preserve something meaningful, is what makes the work art.
And maybe the real question is not whether the world calls
you an artist.
Maybe the real question is whether you are brave enough
to call yourself one.
No comments:
Post a Comment