Roughly, after my father passed. I got pissed off at my mother. She said something to me, that just didn't gel right with me in my grief. Another did as well, after my grandmother passed. Grief is a touchy thing. I knew I needed my space right from the start to process mine. It might have been selfish but it was a lot better then lashing out at someone because with grief comes anger. An I try to keep a tight lid on mine. I wasn't going to take mine out on someone, an didn't want to deal with another's either. To me it's just private. Especially when you have complex feelings about the one that passed.


I use to call my father an “asshole”.


Because at times he was: I got this from my grandmother. Not that she taught me to think of him as an asshole. It's just the word she would use for all of us if we where being “difficult”. It's the only swear word she would use. An to her, we where all “assholes” in some shape or form. Even I was. It's kinda a inside joke. You would have had to know her I guess. It's kinda like Betty White swearing. You just can't help it. It makes you laugh.


She got mad at me one day when her an her boyfriend where arguing in my house. Something that never happened with her. I intervened an told her, they couldn't argue in my kitchen. Right or wrong to me really wasn't important. My kids where home. No arguing. An she turned to me an said:


Why, you little asshole.


An stomped out. Something she never did with me, an that's when I knew something was wrong with her. Really wrong. He was still standing in the doorway, all befuddled and confused, an just looking at me like: Where the hell did that come from. Because she never acted like this, ever. An that's when I told him, somethings wrong. You need to take her to the doctor. If you don't, I'll call my uncle. Somethings wrong. This isn't her.


An it wasn't to long after that she was diagnosed with cancer.


She really wasn't herself. She was physically sick.


It was effecting her personality. She had a lot less patience then she normally had. It just wasn't her. He told me later after she passed, a decade maybe that at first someone: He wouldn't say who tried to say she was crazy. An at first, her whole mental state was being looked at instead of what could actually be wrong with her. He even got confronted by the doctor, asking about it an defended her. Because that wasn't the issue. My grandmother had always been clear headed. Sharp as a whistle. I agree. I talked to her regularly all through my life. An knew, the problem wasn't ever her marbles. She was a smart lady, always had been.


An until they found out what was physically wrong with her, she was a little more short tempered because she was tired. She was sick an she needed medical attention an care. Once, they found out what was wrong, an started to get some of that. She was herself again. There was a reason she was acting the way she was.


A physical reason.


She never was crazy. Not once.


A psychical health issue / problem can alter one's state or attitude. When your not feeling good, your just typically not going to be your most chipper self. When he told me she was put through this, it angered me. Immensely. To me, it's abusive. Someone, an I don't know who attacked her basic character, while she was sick. It didn't last because that's not who she was. An, they didn't know her that well either. You would have to be close to her to notice, something was off. It just wasn't how she would normally react. Wasn't her style.


Two to three years before my father passed, he was in an accident. His girlfriend had passed of cancer, he was grieving an his friends took him on bus trip to a casino. They where trying to be helpful. Cheer him up, or help him grieve. He never should have went. His grieving should have been done close to home, around those who would watch out for him. They talked him into it. He got shitfaced, an fell walking down the bus steps.


He hit the back of his head.


Hard enough to cause blood to pour from his ears. He was knocked unconscious, an someone at the scene gave him mouth to mouth. When I arrived at the hospital, he was conscious an scared to death. I held his hand, all though it. Talked to him calmly. Kept him calm. Calmed him down. An he held onto my hand as tight as he could: Because we both knew it was serious. It could be the end. He had a giant size hole in the back of his head. It was serious.


They put him in a coma induced state.


His brain was swelling. He might never wake up from it. Only time would tell. We wouldn't know the extent of the damage until he woke up. If he ever did. It was the only way to give it time to heal. He was in a coma for nine weeks.


He did wake.


When he did, they warned us: everyone reacts to it differently. He would at first be in the mental state of a child. Some come out of it sweet as pie, others difficult. It would be a long road back to himself. It would take time, an he might not ever make it back to being fully himself. It would depend on him.


He wasn't crazy either.


He had a physical condition that made him take a step back into his mind. He came out of it disoriented, an shock-lying peaceful. Happy. An it was actually a glimpse of the child he had been. He even joked around a bit. Not much because he was clearly exhausted. We wheren't even sure he was going to be able to walk. But the minute I knew he was going to be alright is when, me & my uncle had pushed him into another room: He looked out the window – pointed to a big school building across the street: An said, “I think I use to own that”.


We both kinda laughed.


Not at him, with him. He didn't ever own that building: but he was remembering he owned buildings. He was reconsigning the area. Somewhat. An I think, we turned him around in the wheel chair an showed him the building he did use to own. It helped. It was a good sign. Then, he told us not to put him in wherever they planned on taking him. He didn't want to go.


He recovered.
But during that period, they could have called him paranoid too. When your minds not functioning well, but you are remembering there are some people you don't trust with your life: It can come off that way. He agreed to go to physical therapy just long enough to make sure he could, walk, talk an do the things he needed to do: but he didn't want to be locked up in there any longer then he had to be.


He was afraid.


For couple of reasons, which to me was healthy sign actually. He was remembering the shit cost money. Money he didn't want to blow any longer then necessary. He could walk, talk an do the things he needed to do to take care of himself at home. He had a huge fear they would keep him there longer then he needed to be. An a huge fear, a few close to him would try to force him to stay as well. That he'd be locked up an couldn't get out. Back to himself.


It wasn't paranoia.


It was a legitimate fear. There where a few, trying to insist he stay. He didn't want to for several reasons. An I don't blame him. He was aware enough to know some where going against his will. They wanted what they thought was best for him. More time in recovery was recommended by the doctors. He wanted to finish his recovery at home. One that didn't come with a huge hospital bill. To me, he was getting back to himself. An his fear of getting locked up in there was real.


It's not paranoia if it's happening to you.


He made my uncle promise not let them lock him up in there. He'd stay another week but then you come get me if they don't let me out of here. Don't you let them do this to me. I witnessed the whole thing. No, he wasn't back fully to himself, but he was fully aware. He could finish recovering at home an there was no reason to keep someone against his will. His fear, was founded.


It wasn't paranoia.


He went home. An yea, he was still recovering: Watched the shopping network a little to much an ran up a credit card bill in the process. My grandmother called, frantic: Going I don't know what he's spending the money on. I might need you to go with me to take it away from him. Turns out, his mind was on us three kids during that time period. An he bought a lot of presents for us. Three of everything. One for each one of us. We took the card away from him.


He continued to heal.


It didn't make him crazy. It just takes time. He did recover.


It was a slow process, an if left alone to do it. He could. Without a bunch of pressure on him. Letting him go home, be himself in a place he could relax was the right choice.


I understand his fear.


It's legit. It's not paranoia because the first thing people he was worried about keeping him locked up did to me when I got sick: Was try to lock me up in a mental ward instead of get me the help I really needed. It's documented who tried to do that. Their names on are the papers, who tried to claim I was crazy when I wasn't. It's the same people he didn't trust to make decisions for him. Nor, my grandmother.


It's not paranoia.


It's a flat out I don't trust you to make decisions for me or my well being.
It's a: I actually could die before you make the right one.


So, last week I had a long talk with my kiddo: About what to do if I'm ever not in my “right head”. Her instructions where very clear. Make sure I have food. Get me to a real physician. See what the real physical problem could be. Bring me some art supplies if you want. An give me time to heal. Don't let these people be in charge of my healthcare.


I have a thyroid condition. Not a mental illness.


Any depression I went through was a direct result of how I was being treated while sick an vulnerable. I was susceptible to physical, emotional attack and harm. I was broke. in need of special care, support, and protection because it. I've always been at risk of abuse or neglect by certain people. It's just a fact of my life. I've always put someone else in charge of my healthcare during those periods. Each pregnancy. During my gallstone surgery.


I knew why my dad was acting that way. Why he had that fear.
It's not paranoia if it's a real threat to your well being.


Just because some is closely related to you does not mean they know what's best for you. When your sick, you want someone who will be a true advocate for your healthcare. Not someone with a personal grudge or bias in charge. Not someone with a personal agenda. You want some who will listen to you when you state your real needs. Who isn't playing games with your life.


I really don't care how: Out there I got.


It was from starvation, an my thyroid spinning out because of it. Would you want to leave anyone in charge of your life that would let you get to that point? Probably not. An all I see and want to say: When they go on about how great they are doing...


Is WTF didn't you do that while he was alive. When he really needed you to.


This is why, I really didn't want to get into conversations grieving. Anger is a part of grief. It doesn't bring them back. I didn't want to hurt anyone any further then they already where. My anger runs deep. I was privy to know exactly how my grandmother felt about some things. How dad felt about others. An I've sat over here, pretty much biting my tongue since they passed.


An every time I get treated a certain way, grieve all over again.


After he passed, I went over to the bar by myself. Took inventory. Processed goodbye. Alone. My children where really the only ones I was okay with being around in that process. They hadn't done anything for me to be angry about. We cleaned. It helped me say goodbye to something I knew I'd never have much of a part in again. Because I knew when my mother said that to me, it was going to be taken away from me one way or another. Art to me is just her way of just saying, sit down an shut up.


She was leaning over the bar, helping us list it for sale: All happy like saying “Now Dana, you can do anything you want to. You can do your art.” An I just couldn't help my reaction. A part of me just wanted to reach out an slap her. There was nothing happy about either of them dying. There was no silver lying to me in them passing. I could already do art. I didn't need either of them to pass to do so.


So, I just looked at her an as calmly as I could said:
“Could you bring them back? Cuz that's what I really want.”


She didn't mean to be offensive. She just was. She really had no business standing in my dad's business, or the one my grandmother invested in directing how things should go with it. He had divorced her well over 20 years ago, an it wasn't hers to direct. Everything was getting split up pretty fairly until that point. Most of my time spent over there after he passed was really thinking about what he would have wanted. What he wanted done. I was after all the Vice President of the damned thing. He put me in that position for a reason when he sat it up. He would have wanted it to make money. For the money to continue to grow.


That is what he would have wanted. Period.
Not for just one of us. All three of us.
Not two of us, or one of us. All three.


An anyone that acts or says differently is a liar. That was his will. It's always been his will. He didn't have to go writing it down. It was very straight forward. Anyone that's done any different then that, didn't follow his will. He wasn't paranoid. My grandmother's will was for the business not to get into anyone's pockets again. It's not paranoia when its been done before. So I tried to honor those two things. An those that haven't well, I just don't want much to do with. I pretty much know how they got done, an now how I have. I feel both got taken advantage of at times.


I feel I have when vulnerable.
It's not paranoia, it's just fact.


Vulnerability can be caused by poverty and hunger, poor health, a hazardous location, and lack of access to resources and services. Vulnerability is a liability of a partnership. It is a state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally. I have been. Threats to my own security have been very real. Vulnerability refers to the inability to withstand the effects of a hostile environment. You go on, an forgive someone for taking advantage of you when you where vulnerable for your own piece of mind. But you never quite forget you can't trust someone again like that for whatever reason.


I never have.


When you know you can't trust someone, you can't.
An trust is a very hard thing to win back.


You can't go around calling someone paranoid cause you haven't.
All it means is they have a good idea how far they can throw you.


An some people: It's just not that far.

I went out with my mother for lunch a few months ago. I told her I was thinking about writing a book about what happened. She said, “You should.” I was a little surprised to hear her encourage me to do it. Since it could bring up every ugly thing that's every happened to me or her for that matter. See, she might have done several things she shouldn't have. But she did other things right. An that's the catch twenty two you get into writing about yourself.


Which really isn't a topic I like.


Its so much easier to write about other things: Then put yourself out there: but in this day an age that's what we leave behind. Our stories, or stories we tell ourselves. It's the stories of someone's life that inspires others. Like how Disney went from talking to a mouse alone, broke an trying to get started. Or how Steve Jobs, sat in on college classes to building a company. Even today, people a fascinated by DaVinci's life story.


An as an artist, it's one of the single most important things you can do.


Share your story.


I personally rather have mine reduced to a bio page on wiki, then sit around an think about all the trials an tribulations I've gone through. But it's important I guess for others to know, it didn't come easy. There was a lot of hard work involved. Not just luck.


I have a programming background, ran a successful website for years: Yet became increasingly more uncomfortable putting myself out there on social media. Not because I couldn't do it like a pro. It's because my “real life” an my “internet life” where suddenly being combined. It was actually rather traumatic for me. I tended to think of it as local vs world wide. An still do. Personal vs Pubic. An there have been plenty of folks that have wrote tell alls about their lives.


It really shouldn't be that big of a deal for me.


Except, about the time I was coming out as an artist is when I lost two important people in my life. An it kinda did feel like coming out of the closet. Suddenly long distant relatives I haven't seen since I was five where on social media bring up facts about myself, that had long been over came. I had another criticizing the fact I had tons of people on my social pages that where not local. These where people, who supported my art an meet a lot to me.


It was a nightmare.


I felt suddenly exposed in a way I never had before. I had a real life business I wanted to see do well locally an art I wanted to do well on the internet: An suddenly had to worry about what my relatives thought about every single thing I was doing. Not that any of it was bad, but I had to worry about their approval in a world they didn't understand that well. A world that was changing pretty quickly with social media.


To me, it was a huge clash.


I mean really who wants their third cousin teasing you in front of world wide audience that you use to stutter as a child. It was true, an frankly something I had actually forgotten about when she mentioned it. It didn't embarrass me. It actually angered me because it was something private about myself, that only I should be sharing. An only if I wanted to. An frankly, it made her look pathetic an attention seeking in front of thousands of people. So, I'm leery of telling parts of my story. Not because it makes me look bad, but could or can make people I do actually love come off badly.


An she wasn't thinking about that when she did it.


I doubt she even cares, the struggle that was for me as a child. Cause people don't think when they put stuff out there. I do, an this is hard for me on some subjects. Not because I don't care, but because I do.
An that's when you have to let other peoples opinions an approval of you go. She had a snap shot of who I was when I was three, not a full picture of who I had become or was striving to be. An you can not sit an think of OMG what's my mother going to think.


That's why I asked my mom what she thought before I even started writing again.


Because I've blogged before, written articles before. Creating content is nothing new for me. But having your private an public life all on display at once is. It was but was not a big deal for me. The only issue I was having is suddenly I had to worry about some peoples approval or disapproval I never had before. I never worried about being on a world wide stage. But others in my family did. I got dragged into court over it, with a one of them trying “Shut me up” The judge through it out of court.


It was a clash of local vs world wide to me.


If someone's picking on you, you do have the right to tell them in real life or on the internet to leave you the hell alone. The judge agreed with me.


It doesn't stop you from worrying about people close to you approval. That was what was new to me. An it's something you can't think about as an artist. It's hard enough to put your work out there an meet the public approval or rejection. It really did stop me from the momentum I had going on at the time. It wasn't fear of what my art fans thought. I had their approval to be myself.


Something you have to be willing to do as an artist.


What I didn't have was support from a few in my personal life, although I supported them in their goals. I totally disagreed with how I was being done. I still do. I ignored it as much as I could an tried like hell to stay professional about the whole situation. An at some point had to stop caring about what they thought. Or about their approval.


I went ghost online.


It hurt the art career I was building online. They really did make themselves nothing but an obstacle to over come in my life. Four people. That's it. They didn't know what I was going though, nor did they care. They tried to make my life, about themselves. An it wasn't. My art isn't about them, any more then it was about a third or fourth cousin. Nor where they following my art, or going to buy any of it.


So, their opinions of it an me really never should have mattered.


It hurt me deeply though an I just retreated into my shell. I went somewhere else completely that would appreciate what I had to offer. I grew artistically but never displayed it much publicly. All because four people I cared about didn't approve.
An you can't be this way on the artistically.
Especially if your an artist on the internet.


I just spent a year in therapy over it because frankly: I knew better. You can't let someone, that has one little snap shot who doesn't see the big picture take over your life. Their approval doesn't matter. An you can't be worried about what your mommy thinks of it either. All you should have to worry about is what you think of your work. An your clients.


So, I went an focused on that instead.


Do not let a person who barely knows you be your stumbling block. They may hold opinions of you, that just insult you to your core based on other peoples opinions that have nothing to do with the real you. But I tell you, it was suddenly like having someone go to work with you, looking over your shoulder judging your work: That doesn't really know anything about your job judging you.


Because being online is very dynamic.


The one thing the distant cousin brought up for me, that had really been over came a long time ago was I was a very shy kid. It's why I stuttered. I haven't been that kid in a long time. Nor do I have any problems with it now. Most people will tell you, I'm pretty good at communicating an have always been outgoing. I worked hard to over come those things.


So don't let anyone put you in a box of your former self.


I was two or three years old when I struggled with speech issues. Mostly because I was scared to speak. Not because I couldn't. It had a lot to do with the environment I was in at the time, that was pretty uptight. There was a lot of pressure around me as a toddler. It was a tense atmosphere. My grandfather had passed an I was pretty traumatized by it an the changes going on around me. None of which really could be helped. It was just life.


My grandmother, finally just pulled me aside one day when I was really struggling to spit it out an just told me to slow down. Don't cry. Yell it if you have to. But get it out. It was okay, whatever I had to say was important an she would wait. I remember the day crystal clear.


It was a shyness holding me back, more then the words.


An thanks to her, and her patience I learned to speak pretty clearly from that point on. That's all I needed. An I learned from her, that not everyone had it. An that was okay. She pin pointed the trouble pretty early on, I was shy. An if I'd just get over that I wouldn't have a problem with it anymore. An I didn't. I went to a speech therapist when I was in Kindergarden or first grade or something like that an moved on past it.


But some people won't let you do that.


They want to hold you back, keep you stuck in a place you haven't been stuck in for years. Or drag you back to a place you left a long time ago. I got over the rest of my shyness when my family moved to another state an I had to make new friends. I had to over come them not being able to understand me because I had a southern accent. Reteach myself to speak, in a manner or accent they could understand. I had to get passed being laughed at about it, an learn to laugh at it myself. I had to overcome the playground bully that wanted to pick on me about it. An most that know me would have never known I ever even struggled with speaking or being shy. Most would say, I'm pretty outspoken. An never had a issue with communicating. I've learned to say what I need to say in one way or another.


Express myself.


An I have, that's why I am an artist to being with.


Because there where years in my life where expressing yourself wasn't okay. If I couldn't say it. I'd play it on the piano. Or draw it in a picture. Paint it. Listen to a song, or write it. An every now an then, one of these assholes figures it out I'm expressing myself an gets their panties in a knot over it. An I don't know how more you can be direct about it other then, leave me alone.


Me expressing myself isn't up for debate.


An this is how you have to be about it. Especially when someone is trying to stifle you from a personal angle. I really shouldn't have to sit around, an think up new ways to say something without saying it at age fifty. An I won't.


Art is about expression.


A few peoples personal opinions of it or approval shouldn't matter. If you pay attention, it's always the same ones trying to get you to down play yourself. So they can shine brighter. Or the same old ones judging it.


When I was a teen, we use to rap our text books in paper bags to protect them. I did this so I could draw on the outsides of them without getting in trouble. I drew a pot leaf on mine. I was a teenager, it's what I was into at the time. It's not a reflection of who I am or not today. It was two years before my mother finally figured out what the hell I was drawing an why. My mother about had a heart attack. Ripped it up, an forbid me to draw another one. As an adult, I pretty much believe pot should be legalized. Her an I totally disagree one the subject.


I could probably paint a pretty good pot leaf an really piss her off.


It would sell. But I'm not much of a pot head so don't. It is only a snap shoot of who I was at fifteen. Her approval at that time period in my life mattered. Yet, I didn't even back then let it get in the way of me making some art or expressing myself. Nor, am I going to today.


Don't let someone put you in a box artistically.


Whatever you need to express, do it. Don't let anyone hold you back or slow down. If people are trying to sabotage what you are doing online an artistically cut ties with them if you have to. My mother hate's the kind of music I listen to. Heavy Metal. My dad couldn't stand it. My kids listen to rap, an it's my least favorite type of music there is: But everyone has their own needs of expression. An just because I don't like it, doesn't mean they are going to stop listening to it. I just razz them an tell them some day their musical taste will improve. They don't need my approval or disapproval. It gets in the way of them being themselves. I remember getting on a I hate country kick when I was a teen, my dad loved it. So I hated it on it. I came around. It was just a stage in my life.


An you can't artistically get stuck in just one phase of your life.


No matter how hard some will try to keep you stuck in some part of it. I'm not two or three with a speech problem anymore. Nor am I a teenager, that handles money badly. Or just a store manager. Or just a bartender. Or just a programmer. Or just a photographer. Or just a painter. Or just or that.


You have to keep growing as an artist.


An some people are just never going to understand that. They can't see, you've been working on something your whole life. That they just might only know one part of you. When I worked as a convenience store manger, my employees nor boss had no idea I could draw. Or did art. It wasn't any of their business. They where not my clients or customers. I did that job, an went home an did another. They didn't try to keep me in a role, I out grew. I can still run a gas station top notch. Doesn't mean I should. I did it when I needed a stable income, to support me and my family an learn more about business. I skipped the college expenses of business college an learn straight from a competitive source. Doesn't mean I wanted to work for Mobil the rest of my life building fancy beer displays. Even though I enjoyed practical marketing.


It was just one step in my evaluation as an artist to me: To understand business.


One aspect of it. Not the full picture. Management landed me in a job later on that expanded me as an artist. So who is anyone to tell you there is a right way or a wrong way on your artistic journey. Let alone a right way or wrong way to express yourself. If you have naysayers in your life, telling you not to express yourself, don't question yourself. Question why they are.


I really had to.


An the conclusion I reached was, I kept letting personal approve trump what I knew I needed to do for my career. An the same old people came out judging it. Ask me if I really give a shit what my ex husband thinks of my art or career. Neither of which he was very supportive of. As far as I'm concerned he's just another obstacle I had to overcome. One one hand, supportive on the other running me down behind my back to our children. An a great place for inspiration for expressing anger.


He's not a client. He's not my customer.


An his damn opinion of my photography doesn't matter. An as much as I love my family theirs really doesn't either. All though it makes me happy my son likes hanging one of my art pieces on his wall. He's not paying for it. I'm thrilled when my daughter lets me do portraits of her. She isn't either. An my oldest does art herself, but won't make a career out of it. I don't judge her, one way or another. It's her art, her expression an what she wants to do with it. I only give her advice on it when she asks. I think she's amazingly creative but I don't pay her bills. So it isn't for me to decide if she should or should not invest more of her time there or not.


Yet, I have a few others that would try to tell me how to do my art. Or which art. Or even had the gall of thinking they had the right to be my editor. Writing is just one form of expression for me. An if I'm going to get a editor, it's going to be one who edits not tries to rewrite what I'm trying to express to fit their needs. An they keep butting in my life, trying to control my expression to suite their bottom lines when they don't give a shit about mine.


It's a problem. It's been a problem with social media.


It didn't have to be. I wasn't hurting anyone's PNL at Mobil doing art at night. Yet a few want to jump in an tell me I will ruin theirs cause my arts personal. Well all art is personal. It always comes from a very personal place. I can't sit here pretend three people I care for keep asking me not to be myself. So much so I left the internet, what I was doing just to get away from them.


It's wrong to do to an artist.


Art is about expressing oneself fully. I made mistakes letting my internet following go just to appease some that didn't understand that's exactly the following I need. Those are my supporters. It was my audience, followers and customers. Of course I don't KNOW KNOW my customer in Germany. But boy I was grateful for them an got sick an tired of being embarrassed world wide by a few local to me that don't get it. They weren't interested in me, my art or purchasing any art. Their approval of it one way or another wasn't needed. Just because they know a few family members of mine didn't make it so either.


I don't expect my gas station customers to want to buy art.


Nor did I the local town drunk just because I use to be CEO of a tavern company. One I'm still behind an proud of to this day. They are different businesses. Yes, it be great if they where interested in my art but I'm not going to keep getting chased offline by drunk people just because I know how to throw down a party. It's a part of my career history, but not the only piece of it. An I didn't take kindly to a drunk in my bar or my studio harassing me: So why the hell would I online?


I'm not going to.


You like the art great! You want me to do some photography for you? Wonderful. Your not interested in art, but want a clean gas station still ran the same way I use to: I can point you to a great location but don't follow me home. Want a good place to go party an drink: I know a place. Let me introduce you to the owner but don't bother me with a critic of my art if your not a serious art buyer. You're approval isn't needed. We use to date? Yup, might have. We don't anymore. Move one with your life, or be supporter of my art.


It's really that simple.


See, I didn't have people coming into my photography studio who wanted gas. They just went to the old gas station an got some. If I run into one of my old customers, they don't criticize me moving onto a new field. Or managing a different type of business in the art field. Their approval isn't needed. Appreciated, but not needed. There are some customers, I have always had not matter what I do. An there are some customers who aren't interested in what I sale today. An that's perfectly okay. I've never been a high pressure sale person any way.


As an artist it's much harder then other businesses not to take it personal because it comes from a personal place. That's what makes art meaningful. But approval an sales are something totally different. I'm not an artist to win popularity contest. Approval wasn't what I was seeking when I ran my portrait studio. I sought my customers satisfaction in my art products. Same as I did in any other business I ran. It didn't run on “Likes” or if my mother, sister brother cousin approved. Nor did any of them stand over me all through out the day telling me if I was doing it right or wrong. It didn't matter if my dad's tavern customers liked the price of gas I had to sell something at where I worked. My boss was going to sell it as the price he had to whether people approved or disapproved to stay in business. I don' t think he'd care to much if my mom liked or disliked his business. Her approval wasn't required. My skills that got me the job where.


My dad hated I worked for Mobil. I still needed to work. His approval wasn't required, but been nice if he'd been little more supportive of me having to work. You have to do what's best for you and your career. An that isn't going to always be meet with family approval. In art, it might be meet with some peoples an not others: depending on their taste an your style. My photography clients are different then my fractal art customers. My fractal art fans are different then my traditional art fans. The people I write for are usually other artist. Some like couple things I do, some all of it.


Some none of it and if they'd walked into my studio, I'd be wondering why they did.


An in any business you will have those types that just wonder in, snoop around with no intentions of buying. In the gas station business Id be wondering what case of beer he was thinking about running out the door with. At the bar, which bathroom he might puke in an at the studio, how many freebies this dude trying to get out of me. None of which, I'd be tickled pink to deal with. It's just the nature of customer service, but if one loitering with no intention of buying they'd be ask to leave. Online, an artwork is no different.


If you have someone who is not supportive of your business. Just trolling around.
If they are just trying to start trouble, ask them to leave or block them.
You'd ask them to in real life at a brick an mortar business.


Because their personal opinion of you as a person isn't what keeps you in business. I got fifty million ex boyfriends: If they came an hung out at my counter at work, yes I'd ask them to leave if they where not buying anything. I wouldn't let my mommy hang over my shoulder an tell me how to run something she knows nothing about either. Nor any other family member.


It's you your selling. Your art work. Not them.
And you don't need everyone's approval to do art.


Just your own. Are you okay with your art? Are you improving? Do your real clients like it?


Not everyone's personal approval is needed for you to be good at what you do.
You want clients that actually appreciate your skills. Who reward you.


An your not going to be everyone's cup of tea.
Know who you are. What you are about.
Don't fear a few who won't ever approve.


Keep growing as an artist.


That's what art is all about.
























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