Being an artist is often romanticized — the image of a lone creator, undistracted and immersed in their craft, is what many people picture when they think of an artist’s life. But the reality is far more complex and challenging. The struggle between the desire to create and the constant interruptions of daily life is a frustration shared by many, myself included.

How can I be an artist if I don't have time to create? How can I produce art when my days are filled with appointments, obligations, and the need to take care of myself and my home? It's a real question. There's eating, resting, maintaining my place so it doesn't descend into chaos, and, of course, there’s the changing seasons. Spokane's winters are long and harsh, leaving only a narrow window of time when I can tackle outdoor projects — like building a fence or tending to the yard — or even take on home improvement projects like painting a room. When the good weather finally arrives, it’s a race against the clock.

What about the time for art? Where does it fit in?

For artists in other climates, maybe the time spent creating can be stretched out with longer seasons. In California, for instance, it’s easier to say you have more “artist time” than someone in the Northwest, where winter seems to drag on and on. And let’s not even get into the endless planning — every artist faces the challenge of choosing one direction to pursue, but every path seems just as valid as the next. It’s overwhelming, and the truth is, there’s no guarantee of success in any of them. If there were, everyone would be doing it.

Art, at the end of the day, doesn’t pay all the bills. It’s a pursuit that requires sacrifice, and often, the payoff comes as a rare and unexpected windfall. It takes incredible skill and persistence to get to the point where you even have a shot at that. I’ve known talented artists who simply gave up because it was just too hard. And they were good. So what keeps me going?

I ask myself this question often, especially in these times. Art grants are being slashed. AI is taking over more and more of the commercial applications that used to require human hands. Even major players like Disney are now all about computer-generated art. The gallery scene is shrinking, and it’s harder than ever to break into, let alone find a market. And then, there are the scams — the EFT fraudsters, the endless emails promising art sales to “a spouse” — it feels like being bombarded from all sides with people trying to take advantage of us.

And still, the legitimate opportunities feel so scarce. You can have stacks of completed paintings, created with sweat and passion, yet they sit there because finding a real buyer is as time-consuming and difficult as making the work in the first place.

But then there’s the art itself. When it strikes, when the image starts to form in my mind, it can’t wait. The need to create becomes overwhelming, and I paint because I have to. And when that painting is finished, there’s satisfaction, yes — but also the harsh reality: it could be months before anyone actually sees it. Oil paintings take time to dry, sometimes up to six months before they’re ready to be varnished. And that's good because I have all the time in the world, right?

No. I don’t.

But here’s the thing: despite all the frustrations, the uncertainty, the setbacks, I keep going. Why? Because art is a part of me. It’s not something I choose to do; it’s something I have to do. And though the path is difficult, the act of creation itself offers a kind of meaning that no amount of rejection or frustration can take away. It’s the only way I know how to express what I see, feel, and understand about the world.

So, if you’re an artist reading this, feeling the same frustrations, know this: you’re not alone. The struggle is real, but it’s the very act of creation that keeps us going. And no matter how challenging it is to find the space for it in a busy life, we keep making our work. Because, in the end, what else can we do?