The starving artist

For as long as I have known, there has been the character of the starving artist. The idea of the painter in the city that can't afford the good bottle of wine. The sculpture trying to get by. The writer struggling to make rent. 

These cliches and stereotypes have always been around, and some of them are true.

Even though I grew up as a dancer, I never considered myself an artist. Even as I found my love for writing, I never thought myself an artist.

But I am. 

I am not a starving artist, I don't live in a loft in the city filled with half-done paintings and bills untouched. 

I am not the starving artist that has been described to me all my life.

But sometimes, I am one. 

Sometimes, I am a different definition. 

Being an artist is tough. 

It's tough to pour yourself into things you believe in, to have no response in return. It's tough to have ideas bursting out of your brain constantly, to have no support on the other side. It's tough to truly think this piece is the one, to have less than what you had thought in return. 

It's tough to pour your heart into your work and have some people not understand. 

It's tough.

Because the artist is starving. The artist is starving to get out their art. The artist is starving to make change. The artist is starving to reach others. The artist is starving for their loved ones to get it. 

The artist is starving to be able to do this every day. 

As an artist, you are constantly starving. Starving for more. Starving for less. Starving for art. 

Starving to be understood. 

It's a weird thing, to be an artist. 

You're constantly starving, but when you get just one bite, it's enough to keep going until you get your next.