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I am an artist.
I still feel somewhat uncomfortable declaring this: I am an artist. While my intellect can comprehend this statement, it has taken a bit longer for my soul to understand its meaning -- or be brave enough to believe it. Oddly enough, I've never had any problem declaring my former professions: I am an engineer, I am a lawyer. But then, I was conditioned to believe that I could be an engineer. Or a lawyer. Or anything non-artistic.
When I was a child, well-meaning parents and teachers told me that anything art-related wouldn't be a realistic profession for me to follow. "You won't make any money," they said. "Besides, you're good at math." Since I was a child, I believed them. I'm not an artist, I would tell myself. But I'm good at math. When I was a teenager, I happened to find a report card from kindergarten in my father's files. "Karen is excellent at math and English," the card said, "however, she does not show an aptitude for art." See? I thought to myself as I looked at the document with a sinking heart. I am not an artist. But I'm good at math.
Every now and then I'd test this theory with my parents. One day, when I was about 15 and our family was living in Houston, I approached my mother with considerable apprehension. "Mom," I said, "I think when I go to university I'd like to study architecture."
"Really?" she replied, amused. Then she became more serious. "But architecture requires artistic talent. You're not that artistic, honey," she added gently. She brightened. "But you're good at math! Maybe you could be an engineer, like your father. He'd be so proud."
Resigned (and afraid to challenge this notion any further), I enrolled at Texas A&M University, in the college of civil engineering, on an academic scholarship. I became a structural engineer (as close to architecture as I could get -- you know, without having any artistic talent). By the time I graduated, I had used every single elective to take architecture classes -- 30 credits in all -- and I loved them. I became passionate about art history, purchasing texts over and above those required for my courses, and read them voraciously. I began going to museums. I became obsessed.
Predictably, after graduation, I hated every day I worked as a engineer. The truth was I found the constant equations and calculations mind-numbingly boring. This won't do, I thought. I need to go to graduate school. I can't be an engineer for the rest of my life. However, while I looked around at other career options, that familiar nagging voice kept whispering, I'm not an artist. But I have an analytical mind. So, still afraid of exploring more artistic options, I went to law school. Upon graduation, I practiced law for 10 years, quite successfully. I can honestly say I truly hated it. But I did it, all the time resenting the effort it took for me to make it through the day, and the amount of time it robbed me from my husband and our new baby daughter, Alex.
Then one day, an opportunity arose for my husband in my native Trinidad & Tobago, and he approached me about the possibility of moving. "Would you be open to it?" he asked. "You've been saying how miserable you are practicing law. This would give you an opportunity to spend some time at home with Alex, and figure out what you want to do next."
I didn't even hesitate. I quit my job, and we moved to Trinidad. With my newfound freedom, I dusted off my camera (a hobby I'd begun about 10 years earlier), and started shooting in earnest. I began writing. Slowly but surely, I developed enough nerve to show my work, and surprisingly, people started purchasing my words and images. Before I knew it, people didn't refer to me as a "lawyer" anymore. I became a "writer" and a "photographer."
This transformation has been quite a shock. It's taken me all these years to begin to suspect that perhaps, just maybe, I am an artist. I'm starting to believe in the possibility that it's not that
