Admiration Update

In early March of 2005, I wrote a short journal entry on admiration. This was likely due to a prompt drawn from a bowl of papers with questions on them.

The one person in the world that I admire more than anyone else is.... I really do not know. I mean there are a lot of people in the world who are doing a lot of good things. I admire all of them. At the same time I cannot stand them, because they stand up and say, look at me, I am doing something worth while in the world and you are not. Then they want you to follow them. I guess the people I admire more are the parents of the litters of children. I mean I realize they are getting gads of financial help from doing interviews and ads, but what about the emotional support? I mean, they have to deal with the raising of their kids and making them look and act perfect in front of the world. I can not even raise one emotionally stable child, no less six. If the world were watching me raise my kid I would be the poster child for every abuse case I am certain of it. I am worn out, and stressed out by one kid. I could never, never live through six.

I was knee deep in preschooler troubles at this time and of course, all the cool and collected parents awed me. Admiration ideals have shifted since then. I still commend anyone able to properly raise a functional human, or several, but my son is twelve and very self-sufficient. I must have done something right. Today, I admire anyone willing to risk it all to make dreams happen. This economy especially makes dreaming difficult. I am lucky in many ways. I have an aforementioned well behaved child, a husband willing to take the lion’s share of the bills and friends who support and assist in all ways possible.

I admire those who support me even more than other artists in my position. Zane Grey said something about how he married as any writer should, into money. He was right in that artists need a steady income coming from somewhere. I admire anyone willing to put up with the unstable paycheck, and equally unstable mental state of creative types. I spent my share of time stressed over budgeting, jobs, groceries, and I still do stress, but over the years I have developed a support system that makes it that much easier. Without people to believe in dreams as much as the creator trying to make them solid where would the dreamers be?

My parents never saw the work side of what I do, whether that is writing, dancing or entertaining. They enjoyed the finished product, but never understood that more hours go into that than the final polished piece. It is something taken for granted by many who consume rather than create. It is not their fault, no artist wants the rough cuts out on display, but maybe it would be beneficial. Those who are supportive have seen the work. The late nights, up all nights, and early mornings that lead to a strange sleep schedule and often a moody artist, it makes us hard to live with. It is probably rather like living with a temperamental teenager.

I admire artists who do the dreaming on their own too. Working eight to ten hours per day, sometimes more than five days a week, and drawing up the energy and the will to spend remaining conscious hours doing that work no one will see or understand. We produce what we can, when we can and face the rejection letters, vacant gallery shows, small crowds and cruel reviews of others who have no idea the blood that went into that morsel they devoured and spit out. When it is all over, we return to our offices and workshops and try again. Why do we try? Why do we try to impress people who do not understand? For that dollar, that is why.

And, after we impress the masses enough to make our living through god given talents that will never make us gods, what then? Then, it is still Monday morning, all that we worked so hard to make ours, to live our dreams and make a living doing what we love, it is all drudgery again. We work longer hours, for less pay, doing that which we always wanted to do! Some days, just like those who work the mindless, soulless cube jobs or hard labor, we do not want to get out of bed, but no one understands that. The artist who wants a day off is lazy, a prima donna, possibly strung out. No one ever thinks that for so many years this sleep-deprived individual used to work overtime hours, take care of children, and still made time for his dreams. Can you really blame him for wanting a weekend? There is no such thing as a paid vacation or sick leave in this line of work.

I still admire parents, especially parents still supporting children who grew into artists, but even more, I admire the artists, and more still, those who stand by them. Thank you, from one of those crazy artists.