Artist vs. Human with Aria Bird
This is the first time I've put myself in the zine as a Featured Creative, because honestly, some weird shit has happened this year.
Before the pandemic started, I had gone two full years without creating, without drawing one single new drawing. Just re-posting old artwork, throwbacks, and maybe starting a new concept for a series and never finishing it. I had gotten more depressed than I'd ever been before. As much as I hate to say it, this past year's pandemic helped
bring me out of it.
Long before the pandemic, I did numerous art markets, was ripped off by art showcase companies, and let other collectives take fifty...yes 50%...commission. One day I realized this isn't fun and doesn't feel fair. Taking on the title of ‘artist’ felt like a burden. For example, turning my art into mass produced soulless stickers for people that thought $2 was too expensive—if this was what being an ‘artist’ meant, I wanted no part of it.
A month after the pandemic hit, like many others, I was let go from my day job of three years as a graphic designer. I also had broken up with my boyfriend of what would have been six years, which meant I needed to find a new home. Through several frustrating attempts to find a new place to live, I ended up at my family's cabin in the middle of the woods. With no internet, no cell service, and no insulation. I was in a place cut off from the modern world, which gave me space to be with myself. Turns out, I hadn’t had a chance to sit and think since I was sixteen.
To say I was burnt out pre-pandemic would be an understatement. I had always been a restlessly annoying overachiever, always feeling as though everything I was doing wasn’t enough. Not taking a break between high school and college, no breaks in college, and no break between college and my first job. During that first job I ended up starting a full-fledged art business and Etsy shop on the side. Even my lunch breaks would consist of walking down to Herkimer’s coffee to work on my drawings and apply for art shows and markets. I never realized how stressed and exhausted I was until the pandemic forced me to stop. Not only stop working but stop living the lie-fstyle I had become so accustomed to.
This pandemic breathed life into areas I hadn’t noticed were suffocating. The idea of lazy Sundays, the remedy of sitting outside in the sun, reading books, and talking frivolously to boys. As well as friends. I never realized I hadn’t cultivated any true friendships until April of 2020...
Taking a step back helped me learn how to relate to other human beings in a way that was real, instead of business transactions, water cooler conversations, and drunkenly slurred attempts at flirting. When I decided to begin going on covid safe dates, I met someone who initiated a change in the entire directory of my creative path.
This person had wanted me to draw them a tattoo. One that included their zodiac signs in a subtle way. So, I did. I then decided on a whim one evening to post the illustration on TikTok. When I woke up the next morning it had 16,000 views, 600 likes and counting. From there, commission requests flooded in for custom zodiac illustrations incorporating people’s specific sun, moon, and rising signs. I was not prepared. That post now has 19.8 thousand views, 4,076 likes and 1,103 comments.
Today, you are viewing a few of the 80+ zodiac illustrations I have created over the past four months. I do not say this to gloat. I say this because I came to a rather large realization about my life’s creative path. Nothing is truly real unless you make it real.
Trying to comprehend just how many people had seen my work, wanted to buy it or tattoo it was impossible. Strangers were giving suggestions on what I could do better, others had so many questions about my commissioning process that I didn’t have the answers to. What some artists may perceive as a dream, a once in a lifetime chance...I saw as being put right back into the nightmare that was calling myself an ‘artist’—a nightmare that would include boring social-anxiety filled markets, financially draining art shows, and the idea of having to draw the same subjects in the same style over and over again.
All these dreaded associations with my pre-pandemic ‘artist’ experience forced me to re-examine everything about what being an 'artist’ was to me. How could I keep my work true to myself and not become a drawing machine for the public again?
Well, this time around I had the epiphany that I don't necessarily need my creative process to convenience others. This new zodiac illustration process could be something completely different. The idea that 'nothing is real unless I made it real' came to mind. First, I made my art more exclusive. That way I knew it was something you really wanted and not an impulse ‘add to cart’. Second, I took my time. People who truly admire the work that you do are always willing to wait. In my case,
a rushed piece of artwork is not a work of art. Works of art have soul. Substance that you can dive into. Meaning.
This pandemic allowed me to reassociate with the term 'artist'. I had previously been subverting myself to others' needs. Whether it was from school, from work, from commissioners, or even men. The needs of others had begun ruling my life. Now I rule my own. I now have the strength to admit and accept when I and others use the term ‘artist’ to describe me. It is fulfilling to be given the opportunity to learn about someone’s zodiac signs, their story, and create something that I can be sure has as much meaning to them as it does to me. Most of all, it means staying true to myself, and staying curious about others’ life journeys as well as my own.