You mean all this is free?

I’ve just been offered my first paid teaching gig in years. It’s a tiny thing that might grow into something more. It feels good. It feels quite grown up.

It feels a bit daunting.

Am I up to it?

The material isn’t a problem. I’ll be talking about writing and visual art, my two fave subjects, and the point at which they intersect. That’s my passion, my wheelhouse, my raison d’etre, if you’ll allow me to be dramatic.

Years ago, a colleague told me she felt her purpose in life was to make beautiful displays. As a visual merchandiser, artist and designer, she felt she was right where she was supposed to be and she was incredibly good at it. I’m not sure she ever had to work within a budget but she made those shops look lush and luxurious and stunningly beautiful. In a rare moment of real rapport between us, she confided in me about this and at the time, I thought it was one of the most pathetic things I’d ever heard.

In a world of hunger and pain and war and cruelty, you think you’re just here to faff about with luxury goods?

We were colleagues, not friends. On paper we should have been friends but I’ll admit I was threatened by her talent. She had this single focus – making pretty art and merchandising – and had honed it beautifully, from art college to Artistic Director. Meanwhile, I had meandered all over the place from teacher’s college to this Jill-of-all-trades who was the backstop, the helper, the support person, the in-house artist and manager of seven staff who also answered the phone and took the bins out. (What was I thinking? Past life stuff or first-child-raised-as-seventh stuff, who knows? I’m an enigma wrapped in a damn idiot.)

Anyway…

Now, I get it. I get it what she meant because I’m here to encourage people to write, to write stories myself, and to bang on about art and it’s sheer fundamental essentiality to the human race.

It’s not pathetic or pointless at all. It just feels that way sometimes. A lot of times.

My former colleague was brilliant at her calling. She worked for a leading brand and was a successful artist. My writing feels pointless when I wonder when I’m going to feel successful. I wonder why anyone would listen to me going on about art and writing when Amie McNee does it so much better. Why would I start paint again when everything I make is going to end up in landfill one day?

It feels wrong to talk about art when there is genocide on the nightly news, and homelessness in our suburb, and cancer in our family, and, in our nation, women dying at the hands of men they should be able to trust, and kids who don’t have food and the cost-of-living trying to destroy people.

I know you know what I mean. But I continue. We continue. We make art. We talk about art. We laugh and sing and dream because otherwise we’d just cry.

I’ve been making art since I was a kid and talking about it online for years. I had a blog called Gallery Girl many years ago that I’ve lost the log-in for. It’s long gone because multiple others are using that tag. I’ve been here, as writerpainter since 2018, talking to you, all 534 of you (thank you for reading. I don’t say that enough, but thank you for being here!) about the nonsense that floats about in my head.

I’ve been getting up at our local writers’ group since 2021 and teaching Write and Sip since 2022, blathering away and letting the odd expletive fly about. Now I’ve got this job, I’ll need to be a bit more serious and a bit grown up about it and monitor my potty-mouth but I just feel so lucky to be able to do what I love.

I love talking about art. I love listening to people’s stories. I love writing.

Seth Godin says blogging is an act of generosity. You better believe it.

Blogging helped me write my in-progress non-fiction book. Blogging connects me daily with people all over the world. It gives and gives. Volunteering for my writing group, teaching at fundraisers, hosting library events, these too are acts of generosity that have given me far more than I’ve ever given anyone. These things gave me an outlet for my Acts of Service/desperate need to be needed, helped me find a place in the incredibly supportive writing community, and reminded me of my love for teaching.

Giving truly is the new getting.