Reflections on Being an Artist

It's difficult, this life.  Being the conduit for the vision is a responsibility that, while I do not wish to be hyperbolic, is the most important and life-altering responsibility that anyone who ever lived anywhere will have.

Particularly my vision.  Why do I do it?  Because I must.  I must communicate my vision to the world, no matter the personal cost.  Those who work with me, those who bring the vision to life, are mere vessels in my hands.

The critics won't understand, of course.  They'll say things like, "You've done it again!" and "It was adorable!" and "I liked the rapping reindeer!" but they won't get it: the sweat, the blood, the agony spent during torturous sleepless nights.*

My production of "Is Santa Smarter?" may have very well set the world of the fifth-grade part-time musical theater on fire.

Trendsetter?

Groundbreaker?

Perhaps.  But these words, no matter how true, are ultimately unimportant.

Above all, I am the shaper of the vision.  When I tell that actor, "Honey, you have to speak into the microphone," I am imparting the wisdom of the muses.

"Don't wave at your parents while you're saying your part," I say.  That's direction.  That's vision.

"We need to all step to the right first," I command.  Authority.  Having the vision means not being afraid to say it outright.  I don't sugar-coat; I can't.

Not everyone can do it.  I know this.  I am blessed.  When I arrive at work this morning, my classroom still redolent with the scent of last night's Subway sandwiches, I know that stinky, pickley air will be truly rarified.  I will receive the adulations due me.

I'm expecting a mention on the morning announcements.

*Well, I might have slept, but not well.  Okay, well, but not long enough.  Okay, long enough.  But I occasionally dreamed about the production, which in my version starred Rob Pattinson as Santa Claus and Taylor Lautner as himself.