I’m an artist.

“It’s almost as though you’re an artist!”

My dad said this to me last week. To be clear: he said it jokingly, poking fun at himself sarcastically for commenting on the “artiness” of a picture I’d taken on the ferry back from Tiree. He liked it and thought it was cool (cheers dad!)

The picture in question.

As we started the second leg of our journey back to Glasgow in the baking hot sunshine, I thought about what he had said. What was likely just a throwaway comment had had a profound effect on me.

It brought to mind one of my favourite stories about dad: when he was about five he wrote a piece of homework that said “When I grow up I want to be a climber and a artist.” Yes, a artist! 😂

In some small, tiny way, I felt a new connection to my dad. It was like I’d discovered something new that we had in common. At some point he had wanted to be an artist, and now he was referring to me as one.

I am a artist.

You know those moments when you get a splash of clarity? Something that intellectually you might know, but don’t fully believe, and every now and then something triggers a moment of “aah, I get it now” ? This was one of those moments.

I felt really chuffed that dad thought of me as an artist. It made me feel… seen. Because it’s only in the last few months that I’ve started referring to myself as an artist. Letting myself be one. Accepting a part of me that has probably always been there.

I haven’t really talked about this with many people. And so to realise that dad already sees me that way feels awesome. Like, if dad or other people see me that way, then maybe that’s what I am.

Let me be the first to say: DUH LAURA.

It’s been a bit of a journey to get to this point. Giving myself permission to think of myself as an artist has felt exciting and refreshing. I feel like I’ve been drenched with a bucket of cold Atlantic water and it’s cleansed me of all my limiting belief bullshit.

This permission-giving is also a Big Deal: I’ve been gatekeeping myself for YEARS, believing I’m not cool/creative/good enough to belong in the creative world. It’s taken a lot of inner work and a super squiggly path to get here. It’s been tough, but bloomin’ worth it.

Writing this a few days later, I’m realising in real time that what I’m responding to is not only feeling seen by my dad, but feeling seen by myself.

(Sidebar: I really wanted to title this blog “I’m a artist” but the thought of people thinking I couldn’t do grammar was too much).