Examining Your Roots

I grew up on a farm, outside of a small town in Missouri in some ways they where the happiest years of my life, an the worst. Depending on which part of it I want to look at but the reason I'm writing this to tell my story. It's not actually here to complain or focus on all that was bad that happened to me. It's to examine where some of my beliefs came from, an reroute them. Because what you believe you become. Or can hold you back.


So I have had to look at some of those painful memories to see if they stuck.


An they didn't, an I'll tell you why they didn't. I had plenty around me that encouraged me to be my biggest brightest self. They invalidated the your unlovable aspect that could have stuck with me had I choose to believe my mother at age four. It just didn't stick.


I knew she was wrong.


An I believed that deep down all my life. I just buckled down on what I was good at. It started out as a way to stay out of trouble actually.


Art.


It became one of those household of been seen, not heard. Later in my life, I figured out I was kinda sound sensitive myself. Maybe because of it. But I enjoyed quiet as a child. Sitting at the table, drawing was enjoyable an it didn't set anyone off. I could be just what I was. A kid. An as long as I was “good” there was no drama in the house. So, although I was an active kid that enjoyed outside a lot: I learned from an early age to sit still. An focus on something else.


My dad came in one day, while I was sitting there drawing a tree.


An instilled something in me: That's great he said but then the criticism came: but can you draw something else besides a tree. I'm not sure he meant it critically either. He just saw I was stuck on one thing: Trees. He said, “Your trees good, but can you draw me a house?” I had never thought about drawing a house before. So, he sat down next to me an showed me how. He didn't do it for me. He instructed me to draw a box, then a triangle. He was working on my shapes with me.


That is how much I remember of my childhood.


Details like that. Who was actually teaching me things. He walked away, an I drew windows in it an he was pretty proud. An that's probably when I decided to become an artist because I've been doing art since as far back as I can remember, an being rewarded for it on a emotional level the more I improved.


“That's a nice house”


An he's the one that got me thinking, what else can a draw: An off I went with it. Next came the dog, the cows ect an it wasn't long after that, I saw Disney's “Alice in Wonderland” an got inspired. I sat and watched in awe cause it was all drawn. An they moved. Its really the first animated cartoon I saw. They weren't on at our house. We didn't have Sesame Street or any of that. It was a very rural area that only picked up three channels.


I wanted to know how they did that. I really did.


I was seeing how far drawing could take someone. So, I really became all about it. Plus, it kept me out of trouble. It was a winner to me! I'd still go outside and play with my dog, run but my time in doors became all about drawing and stories.


“Alice In Wonderland” was one of my first real novels I read.


An still, my favorite. My dad, use to sit on the couch an teach me my colors. We'd go through the whole box, while he'd show my infant sister as well. They where good memories. Anything associated with stories, learning or art where the best of memories. He'd watch Captain Kangroo with me before we would get dressed. He'd go over whatever lesson, he was teaching drinking coffee. Then we would get dressed, head over to my grandmothers to eat breakfast. I'd go hang out with Pappa.


So my childhood wasn't all bad.


It was after four that it got difficult an that is when my grandfather passed. That's when the tension happened. Looking back it's understandable as an adult. It was a huge loss for all of us. There was a lot of pressure on everyone. My dad, took over running the farm. My uncle moved in to finish high school. My grandmother moved up north to work to support the farm. An no one was in a good mood, most days. If not down right pissy, you'd say.


I myself didn't understand what happened.


I was four, an no one talked about it. He just disappeared. Poof! Gone.


An I remember having a conversation with my dad about what it.


What do you mean, he's in heaven?


Can't you call him? Tell him to come home?
You can call grandma, why can't you call him?


An I'm sure the conversation was difficult on my dad, cause I got pissed. An kept demanding someone call him. An at some point, my dad said well here: You talk to him an handed me the phone. He can hear you, he just can't answer you. He's with God.


Well who's God? An why won't he let Pappa talk?


So he called my grandmother instead. Here you talk to her for a while.
An that would take my mind off it I guess.


At some point, my dad wouldn't let hold the phone anymore like that. An told me I could talk to him without it. In my room. So I would. That was my introduction to God, Prayer an Spirit. Later, it when my grandmother returned from up North. She took me out on a drive and explained “Heaven” to me. I didn't much like the concept.


But I continued to draw.


It was the best way for me to be with everyone so upset. Quiet. The adults around me needed it. An I guess his passing made me grow up a little more serious then other kids. Shortly after that, my sister was born. An the dynamic in the house changed like it always does. I was no longer the center of attention, but that was okay. I kinda liked this idea of a child around. I've liked babies since I was a tot. Everyone kinda cheered up. Including me. An life moved on.


But I really was into art.


An my grandmother took me to see Snow White in theaters. It was my first movie.


I was blown away. You could do all that drawing?
So, I've always thought about drawing & stories.


It was just instilled in me from a very early age.
Books, stories, drawings...all of it.


I wanted to grow up an do that! After the baby came, my mom decided to redecorate my room or our room. Not sure which. I was entering Kindergarten an she decided to go with Precious Moments stuff for the theme. I use to play she was a great artist who did that. I'd sit an try to redraw it until I had it as perfect as the one on the folder. I'd spend hours in my room doing it.


I didn't want to just draw stick figures like my grandmother taught me.


I wanted them to be as cute as the figurines I saw down at Hallmark. As cute as the baby was. An I'd focus all my attention on it. I'd play I was that great of an artist. An even worked on what “my signature” symbol should be. That's how into the idea I was of being an artist & story teller I was. Still am. I'd play that all the time.


One playtime ritual revolved around a suitcase.


I played that a famous artist had stopped by. Painted an oil painting on it of a VW bug, traveling. Which actually was a famous ad back in that day. That it was worth millions, an he just gave it to me and my dad to protect. An inside was my mom's typewriter. An I'd take it out, pretend to type my story then draw the artwork for it. I'd pretend the “bad guys” where trying to break in to our house an steal it. But they didn't know how special it was.


An when I got sick couple of years ago.


This is the kind of stuff, I was thinking about. My playtime stories. Rituals. Things I would do as a child. I spent a lot of time trying to learn how to use my mom's typewriter. I think I knew how to type before I actually could read very well. It was just important for me to know how to do that. It's what made books. An she would let me do it, as long as I didn't mess up the ribbon.


This is the kinda of stuff artist think about.
Getting back in touch with your “magical thinking”


My kids where all upside down, when I got sick because what I was talking about just didn't seem to make a lot of sense to them. It made perfect sense to me: I was the one stuck in my own head. An I might have been starving an hallucinating, but I was rediscovering myself. I just wasn't communicating so well.


I don't suggest starving yourself to death as a way to creativity.


I've never believed in the starving artist notion. Even though, I was literally at that moment. I only suggest looking back at your childhood as a way to get to the root of why or where you got that notion in your head. I was surrounded by successful art. In books. On Tv. In Movies. Magizines in my childhood. So, I really do have to rethink this “poor” notion.


It might have been watching my family struggle with bringing the crops in.
How important that was to our families financial future.


Farmers are poor part of the year, rich the other.
An they have more equity then most do...


Yet there was this image of poor struggling farmers out there. An in the 70's banks where taking farms away from people that had several farmed the same land several generations. It was a legit worry for my own family. I didn't grow up with this notion we where poor. Just that it required a lot of work. I grew up with stories of when my grandmother was poor, struggling to over come that. An how the whole family had. I grew up with my father, going on strike an marching on Washington over the way farmers where being done. Him warning other's in his community to get out, or invest in something else before you loose it all.


An that's what he did. He sold all the equipment, the cows an even my dog an moved us up north. He was well worth over a million dollars. We were not poor. It was just invested. He took that money an bought rentals to support the farm land. He didn't farm it anymore. He rented it out but held on to it by doing something else with the money.


So, I'm not sure what got stuck in my subconscious that you couldn't make a living at art. Or where it came from. It might be I just got taught you couldn't make a living at something you love. Because my dad actually loved farming. He didn't really enjoy fully being a landlord. Not like he had farming. So that might have been why I choose to go into a different field other then the one I loved.


It might not actually have anything to do with art.
Or if you can or can't make a living at it.


An this is why you have to go back into your programmed subconscious an see what's going on there. What lessons you learned watching your parents grow up. We always had enough. We might have not been living like the Rockfellers but there was food on the table an clothes on our backs. So, you have to look at what you learned about work or money from your childhood. An when I look back, my mom had a habit of telling us there wasn't enough money for this or that.


But looking back, there was plenty of money for what we needed.


So it's a nasty habit mentally I got from someone that didn't mean to instill it I don't think. She always had a fear there wouldn't be enough. Not that there was or wasn't I think an passed that on to me. That thought. It's part of budgeting to last a year on a farmers salary. It's just the nature of the beast. Same as getting through to the next weeks check. It was just a habit of hers to tell us kids. There is or isn't money for this or that. Or we only have this much to spend. That probably made me a great manager. I didn't over shoot my budget as one. But it might have made me always think we where poor when we weren't. So, it's how you choose to look at something.


An you have to examine it or it's going to effect your whole life.


Money's a funny subject for me. I've had money, I've not had money. An I don't tend to look at wealth the same as most of the people I know. Successful or not. Money to me, I guess because I watched my parents under so much pressure from it: Seemed like a burden. Not a joy. An when you don't have enough of it, it most certainly can be. My hang ups regarding money might just all go back to the time my grandfather passed away.


Before that, people worked an did what they where suppose to create money. They didn't worry over it. They just did it. So my four year old self might have been running my whole money show my entire life, prepare for the worst that could happen. That's kind of what you do, budgeting. Prepare for the worst. Hope for the best is kinda deal. Go without somethings, while you have to get them later when you can afford to.


I'm not bad with money.
I never have been.


I can make 30K go a lot farther then most. I just tend to view wealth not just as something material. Happiness, satisfaction, resources factor in. What's the point of being “successful” if your whole family is miserable in the process weighs heavily for me. Not that I don't understand the road to success. I'm surrounded by successful people, in one form or another. But like the “Artist's Way” brings up, you have to define what success means to you as an artist.


It wasn't starving.


So, when did this notion I might be one if I choose a art career take root?
Where did it for you?


This is one of the reasons I got back and rethink my childhood. Not only is it a source of getting back in touch with your creative self, an your “magical thinking” You can pull up a bad weed that got planted there in your subconscious at some point. It can block your road to success. I want to pull up by it's roots. It's a bad seed.


I'm just not seeing in my childhood where that got planted.


Other then my father selling the farm, an taking away from it you couldn't make money doing something you love. You might have to find something else you like doing to make a income. That just might be it for me, an has nothing to do with can I or can I not be successful artist. It might have been why I became so interested in business management. I actually love running businesses. PNL's turn me on. Out performing ever gas station in the Rockford area, use to give me chills. Good ones.


When the gas guy would call, an say hey Dana, want to get into a price war today?


I'd be oh, hell yea!


I enjoyed it. Competition. It's fun to me. So, it might not be a fear of being an artist. Or not making enough money at it. It just might be, this is the right time in my life to presue it. When it doesn't matter if I make money at it or not. That's a nice bonus. But it's not the main goal. Just a side product of it. It might have been because I witnessed great aunts & my grandmother not get into art until they where older an had time to. When raising their children an obligations where already meet. At any rate. I got over whatever fear of it was holding me back, when I took the photography management job.


An that fear of instability, seems to be there regardless of what career I'm in.
An it's just something you have to scwash like a bug. An get past it.


I think that fear for me comes from some place else that has nothing to do with money or art.


I don't know a successful person that hasn't had to face that fear, an over come it.
Regardless of the career path they choose to be in.
You have to face whatever is holding you back.


So, I've pretty much set myself up, now where I can do art regardless. Without worry.
An the only thing that seems to get in the way of it is, a few peoples approval.


I don't actually need to do art.


So, what's holding you back?