What a frustrating dichotomy we artists live with.

We’ve all heard the words: “I love your work.” “What kind of work do you do?” And then there’s the actual word, “Artwork.”

Yet, the common (mis)conception is that artists just play their days away, making pretty pictures (or whatever their chosen art form is), and living a fun and carefree life. They are the envy, or disdain, of all the people who actually “work” for a living.

Fact: we love what we do. What’s the saying? “If you do what you love, you will never have to work a day in your life.” But it doesn’t necessarily follow that the opposite of work is play.

Is our work just play? Is our play work? I know, for me, this is the hardest work I’ve ever done. It might look like just a pretty picture, but I have to have a vision, and I have to make my vision a reality. I have to draw on everything I’ve ever learned, everything I’ve experienced, seen or felt. Every brushstroke is, in some way, a decision – expressing a feeling or a thought. It’s all-consuming, it’s a challenge, it’s a risk, it’s an experiment. My best paintings come when I risk the most, and they are often when I have the most fun.

But is art play? Simple answer: No.

People see only the end result: the piece of art in a gallery or show, or the glitzy opening parties, with wine and hors d’oeuvres and people in fancy clothes. Lots of fun!

What they don’t see is the unglamorous stuff, the “dark side” of our art: the hours it took to complete the paintings, the application forms we had to submit for the chance to be juried into shows, the countless miles we spent driving around to the photographer or to the framer, the care it took to get our work to and from the show or gallery without damaging it! Yeah, it’s pretty glamorous alright (more like a pain in the butt!).

Yet, in the day-to-day realm, we all have friends and family, who still think that we just play. For example, a relative of mine envies me, because I just hang out in my house and “paint beautiful paintings all day.” And I have friends who want to chat on the phone, but, sorry, I can’t paint when I’m talking on the phone. They don’t understand why; after all, I’m just painting. But when I paint, I am totally absorbed. I can’t even listen to music that has words, for crying out loud!

I was painting the other day, when a neighbor stopped by to get something. I came to the door, wearing my Starbucks “painting apron” and my purple nitrile gloves. We chatted for a little while, and then I told him that I had to get back to my painting. He said, “Oh, that’s what you were doing.” (Do people think these paintings just appear out of thin air?) I guess he figured that I spend my days doing dishes – you know, the apron and the rubber gloves… Actually, since I work at home, that is part of my job, too. And the laundry and the grocery shopping and the cooking. And plowing the driveway when it snows…

Even my husband, supportive though he is, says things like, “You get to play tomorrow,” referring to any activity in which I paint, rather than do my office work. Yes, it’s enjoyable. Yes, it’s fun. But, no, it’s not play. I have to concentrate and expend huge chunks of my self during the process. It takes a lot out of me. It’s intense. It’s draining. But there’s nothing I’d rather be doing.

So it is with us working artists. We cannot not do our art. It is our passion; it is what completes us, makes us whole. We are empty without our art to fill us up. We strive to make each piece better than the ones before it, to constantly grow. The real art is to make it all look effortless, easy – like play…

Let us not forget that an art masterpiece is proclaimed to be:

A WORK OF ART

And now you know why.