Fear sits at the communion table and prays that we partake. You'd be shocked and inspired at what is possible, if you knew it was possible!
Relating this to my art career, moving to Nashville was one the hardest and scariest things I'd ever done. Once I did that, and was living downtown, working and creating in a city I loved, around new friends I loved, the world got smaller and my confidence as an artist, and person, exploded. It showed through the body of work I created, and the buzz that followed.
From growing up in Kansas, to moving to Nashville, Chicago, and now Paris, there have been minefields of fear and doubt buried throughout this journey. You have to accept it's part of the landscape, even embrace it. The scars, broken bones, and bloody lips that occurred fighting to get here, had to happen.
KP~ In your adult life, do you have a "biggest watershed moment" you would like to share with us?
DS ~ When I was 27, I received a phone call from my little sister.
She said she was at the hospital, and I needed to get there as soon as I could. I asked why, but she skirted the question. I asked if she was hurt. She wasn't. I asked if her kids were hurt? They were fine.
After talking in circles trying to make sense of why I needed to drive 40 minutes back home, to a hospital, for nothing, it all quickly and furiously became...everything.
In almost a whisper, my sister confessed, "Mom and dad got in a car wreck...and,...dad is ok.".
With that, I stopped asking questions. I stopped talking. I dropped my phone on the cold, cracked, concrete, and cried.
Earlier that morning, my mother and father had packed up their powder blue Ford Taurus with a suitcase, flowers, a few wrapped gifts, and handwritten posters. They're destination was a few hours away to Fort Riley, Kansas, where they were to surprise my younger brother who just landed, returning on leave from the war in Afghanistan.
My mother and father were sideswiped by an SUV, as they were pulling out onto the highway. The driver of the SUV didn't stop at a red light, hitting my mother's door at 65 miles an hour. My mother, Janice, was 47.
KP ~ Aside from obvious differences such as the language barrier, in terms of being an artist, what is the single biggest difference between living in Paris, and living in the USA, for you?
DS ~ The single biggest difference between living in Paris and living in the United States, for me (while we're on the subject) is the pride, acknowledgment, value, respect, and appreciation for all things art.
Sure, I've lived or been to New York, L.A., Austin, Chicago, Atlanta, and they all have their own special place in my heart, with numerous things that make each one it's own, but the absolute heartbeat, pulse, persona and personality of Paris was, is, and always will be about the art.
The deeply woven thread that runs between the look, feel, sounds, and smells of Paris, and the artists who cut, carved, painted, sculpted, designed, baked and cooked, throughout this mesmerizing city, is why you, me, and millions around the world love, envy, and for some, hate, this corner of the world.
You come to Paris for the art. The art of food. The art of fashion. The art of architecture and design. The art of language. The art of fine wine. The art of love.
It's expensive. Seriously. This is one reason why you should invest in an artist.
KP ~ Do you have a favorite working routine these days? how is it different from your work routine as a younger artist?
DS ~ My routine now, is not much different than my routine while I was creating in Nashville. Chicago, on the other hand, was a whole other monster, as creating in the advertisement world took most of my time and focus, leaving very little personal time to paint and draw. That is partly why I moved to Paris.
My most prolific time creating up until now, was while I was living in Nashville.
I'd wake up around 11am. Take a walk or run through West End, usually circling Centennial Park, then back to my place just inside 440. Take a shower. Head to a coffee shop or two, meet up with a few artists or musicians, and, if any of my friends were playing a gig somewhere, head to the venue. I'd find more inspiration sitting in coffee shops, music venues, or digging through records at Grimey's, than actually sitting in my studio.
After the evening's social scene was over, I'd head into my studio located in Green Hills. On the average, I'd turn on the lights between 6-9pm, shut the door, turn on Radiohead, and sit in front of a freshly primed canvas. Like a old sponge, I'd squeeze out all the ideas I absorbed during the last few days, and throw them onto a canvas. The night world turn into the morning when the birds starting chirping, then I'd go home, or crash on the sofa in the corner.
The process, or routine, hasn't changed too much even though I'm creating in Paris. Sure the landscape, language, and the culture here is it's own, but after a while you realize that people are people, and places are places.
I still get up around 11, walk to my local café here in Montmartre, then maybe pick a new area of the neighborhood to walk through, hoping to find an old book store or specialty shop, then go back to my studio and paint. If I'm in the mood to draw, I usually perch myself up in corner of a local café later in the afternoon, and sit for hours over my pencils, pens, paper, and bad coffee.
KP ~ What would you tell someone who was thinking of following a similar path as you, something that would help them in their career trajectory?
If someone was thinking of following a similar path as me, career wise, and wanted some helpful insight into this world I live and create in, I'd break their heart. I'd crush it.
First, there is no path. And no map. Sometimes, there's not even a match to light.
