As you may or may not know, I do not take criticism well. That pertains to everything. If I’m not washing a dish the way someone thinks I should be and says so I will get emotional. If I get “notes” on what a “Post” should look like versus a “Page” or a “Blog” or “Journal” or the “About” section, I don’t get emotional I become pissed.
None of us are perfect. I’m not here looking for a book deal like some people are. I don’t want an award or a mention in a magazine. All I want is to know that there are people similar to me in the Universe. I want to know that I’m NOT ALONE. Because without that there is no point. I’ll just talk more to my Chihuahua. It’s messier when I talk to him because he constantly wants to lick my pain away. (And he eats poop)
Back to my friend Criticism. Do you know which class I always hated the most throughout my school history? Art Class. I remember in Grade School having a teacher who looked like the host of Dance Fever, Deney Terrio. He made me nervous. I can’t even draw a stick person correctly. I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler! I believe I spent most of my time in the nurse’s office.
In Junior High we moved on to Clay. When the teacher asked us to mold something out of clay I turned in a…….ball of clay. My twin sister on the other hand was winning Art competitions. She was also writing short stories that the teachers loved. This only bothered me because my dad is artistic. He used to do charcoal sketches, oil paintings, beautiful wrought iron welding, he even did our landscaping artistically. My mom could sing and dance. I could do none of these things.
I had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I wasn’t creative or imaginative at all. My mind just went blank and I would freeze when asked for creative ideas.
I have now realized what the problem was. I was always surrounded by people and put on the spot. I found that when I was alone I could be creative in my own way. While working at a jewelry factory for years I forgot that when I was alone I would put together my own jewelry with spare parts. I started doing jewelry at the age of 10/11. My mom would bring it home with her and she taught me how to help. I liked anything repetitious where I didn’t have to talk or think. Linking, carding, looping, accomplishes that. Designing is a whole different ballgame.
I never showed anyone the jewelry I made until much later in life. I’m talking a few years ago. I was going to try to sell some of it but always somehow managed to give it away for free. I always felt “Who do I think I am charging people for something I made?“. I couldn’t hear the compliments or positive feedback.
The one person that sold my jewelry and believed in me was a young girl I was going to for my hair. I had become too weak to hold my hands above my head to color my own hair. I always felt better around her. She was that kind of person. I gave her some of my jewelry that she liked. She asked if I would mind if she tried to sell some my jewelry because her clients had asked about it. I gave her permission to handle everything.
I always underestimated myself. Where I would’ve asked $10 for a necklace she asked between $30-$50 depending on the amount of Swarovski Crystals used and how much time she estimated it had taken me to make the piece. She sold quite a few. I cried in my car of course when she gave me the money and told me what she had done. She also received a gigantic tip that day.
I had to stop making jewelry because of my vision and my hands shaking. The vision is due to my kidney failure.
I have learned these past few years that I’m creative in different ways. I am good at looking at someone and seeing what color hair would bring out their features. I can visualize a hair cut and make up palette. I’m good at putting together outfits. I can spot artistic talent that other people dismiss with one glance. I think outside the box and because I find beauty in the darkest of places I find the unique. Most of it sounds superficial. To me it isn’t. It’s the little things that help me continue.