Artist: a creative person whose brain is so full of imaginary things that reality is easily crowded out in favor of much more interesting diversions.
Angst: a deep core of weltschmerz from which my best work emerges. If I do not stagger about, wailing for hours in overwrought despair before starting a new work, that work will fail.
Arbitrary: random thoughts always appear when I am busy with a project. These new ideas are always things that I must start immediately, leading to choices that might kindly be described as…whimsical.
Aimless: wandering from room to room, unable to focus on any of the dozens of unfinished projects strewn about; a normal day-in-the-life.
Abandoned: projects begun with passion are left behind in the wake of new, random ideas and assorted lightening strikes. This occurs, on average, six times per hour. (See: Arbitrary and Aimless.) As the eccentric-but-brilliant Pablo Picasso said, “Art is never finished, only abandoned.”
Achievement: a never-ending, impossible concept for artists. There is always another idea, another painting, another subject to write about; if we “achieve” one goal, a thousand others stalk us relentlessly.
Agonize: (See Angst, Arbitrary, and Aimless.)
Ability: something that others say artists have, but we either don’t believe them or develop obnoxious egos.
Absent-minded: a sub-category of chaos theory that describes right-brained, creative individuals and elderly people with senile dementia. I wonder if there is a correlation? Perhaps, as we age, the right-brain re-wires the left, overwhelming it with creative chaos. Many well-known artists began their careers late in life.
Anarchy: every artist is at least a closet anarchist. Otherwise, we would not feel free to create.
Asinine: my behavior, when I am most absent-minded, angst-ridden, and artistic.
Avant-garde: the terms “bohemian” and “eccentric” are appealing, but “avant-garde” is a much classier description.
Avoidance: in a state of angst, I will do almost anything not to follow my own agenda. I’m doing that right now.
Amusing: my left-brain considers itself to be quite entertaining. It is wrong.
Annoying: that same intellectual portion of my mind is demanding equal time. Nag, nag, nag!
Acquiesce: okay, fine! I’m going back to packing boxes – but the weltschmerz in my gut is screaming that I’d rather paint.
I wish that I’d found a good “A” word for boring.
