Maybe You Are Not an Artist

I have long been a fan of the HBO series Six Feet Under, about the Fishers, a Los Angeles family that owns and lives in a funeral home. I am not quite sure what it is about this show that drew me to it in the first place. As I recall, I became aware of the show at a time when I had lost someone close to me, and it was kind of cathartic in a macabre kind of way. The characters are completely honest and very flawed. When I watched it, I felt like a voyeur, peering into the everyday lives of these very troubled, yet realistic people.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been in a weird state of mind, on an emotional roller coaster that tends to be the underlying script of my life at times. Going from moment of crisis to moment of crisis, trying my best to enjoy the space in between. Last week, I started to get a sinus infection, and, as much as I might want to live a nonmusical life for a while, it is always very aggravating when I am not able to function. I had to have someone else take care of some of my duties on Sunday morning since I could barely talk. So, as is often the case when I need to be quiet and get over something, I spent much of the weekend in my room watching television. Misty was supposed to be out of town this weekend, but there were mechanical difficulties with her plane and so she decided it was a sign that she was not supposed to go after all. Thank God, because I felt so bad it would have been difficult to be mommy and daddy for four days straight.

So, over the course of the weekend I watched the final season of Six Feet Under and came across this amazing scene. Over the course of the five seasons, Claire Fisher, the youngest member of the family by quite a few years, spends much of her time trying to find herself. She is in high school when we meet the family and then spends a couple of years in art school before leaving to find her way in the world. During the last season, she is adrift in this search for self and she applies for an emerging artists grant. She has no question she will get the grant.

One day, Claire's aunt Sarah, who has spent most of her life as an artist/bohemian, has come for a visit. They are sitting at the table when Claire receives the letter informing her that she has not received the grant. She is visibly upset by the news, but her aunt seems completely unmoved by the news, suggesting that there would be other grants in the future. And then she drops the bomb that went something like this:

Sarah: Maybe you are not an artist.

Claire: How dare you say that?

Sarah: Did you feel angry when I said that to you?

Claire: Of course!

Sarah: Maybe you are not really an artist because you felt anger. If you really are an artist, you'll just laugh at me. Like if you tell me that I am purple, I'll just laugh because that is not true.

How often do we feel the need to defend our choices? If we truly are something, an artist or whatever, should that fact define us so much that we laugh when someone would suggest otherwise? I have not fully wrapped my head around this yet. I know there have been times when I have defended myself when there was no point. These times come less and less as I grow up and become more comfortable with me, but the impulse is still there. Does the fact that someone questions something about you make you start to question yourself? If you really are _______ then you should know it enough to not allow someone to call into question your existence or your choice or whatever. I guess the reverse is: If someone can change your mind about who you are, then were you ever ______ to begin with?

Thoughts?