Feb. 17 - Lisa's Musings From Every Day Life

Today, I figured out why I'll never be an artist -- or at least not a ceramic artist.

I've been interviewing a lot of creative types since June for a small feature I've written every week since the start of the A2 Journal.

This little weekly feature shines a spotlight on a local artist.

Call it my contribution to promoting the arts.

And, one of the basic questions I always ask is "Why did you chose (fill in the blank with fabric or clay or metal or paint or ink) for your art?"

I've gotten a lot of fun answers; artists can be very creative when it comes to explaining why they do what they do.

Today, however, an artist told me that clay and all of the different sorts of art she makes from it "speak to her."

What?

Did I hear that correctly?

Apparently so, because when I repeated her answer she expounded upon it.

In an extremely eloquent way, I might add.

And, it actually made sense to me, which I must say, isn't always the case when I try to get inside an artist's head to explain to my readers about an artist and his or her creations.

I'm a writer. I think in black and white.

Even so, people sometimes call me very creative because I can swirl words around in my head and type them out to tell a story.

And yes, some stories write themselves; others I pull out of my, er, butt.

But none of them have ever spoken to me; at least not in the have-a-conversation with-me kind of way.

Heck, I don't even know how to turn on the sound on my laptop.

I guess that makes me a quiet writer and I won't be giving up my day job to be an artist any time soon.