I enjoy creating my art so much. I can’t imagine ever stopping. In fact, I don’t know why it took me so long to admit that I was really a creative soul. I’ve always know that I was different, not quite like the others. Finally after some miserable years I allowed myself to play with the pudding paints. After all, I had spent a good amount of time getting close to other people’s art and drooling.
When I told my mother that I now defined myself as an artist, she remarked “Of course, you always were.”
So now I find myself on the journey to actually making a living from my art. And it’s scary. What if I am not really that good? What if I can’t make a go of it? What if it’s just a hobby? What if nobody likes my stuff.
I know that my friends encourage me but they like me. That’s their job. I know that my mother is very supportive, but she has to be. I know, I’m a mother too. I know that I have a few followers on my Instagram account, but it’s still under 200.
I am just going to have to put on my big girl panties and get on with it.