essay on if i become a painter
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Explanation:
I decided that I wanted to be an artist when I was six years old. As I grew up I realised that in order to do so I would have to make sacrifices. I would probably never have enough money to buy a house, probably never have children. Holidays were rare and unusual things. I wanted to paint and draw. That was all I wanted to do. I would always be poor, because very few people manage to live off their art. All of these were conditions I accepted so that I could follow a path that I chose and spend my days pushing coloured water around on paper, scribbling and later writing.
I have been very lucky. A run of work for a card company enabled me to gather enough money to put a deposit on a house. It is amazing how years of frugal living can suddenly lead to savings as money comes in. I met a man who I loved who wanted to look after the children so that we could have a family and I could continue to work and was blessed with two very beautiful babies.
I sell my paintings. It is always hard to put a price on them, but I do find what I think is a fair price. I am very lucky in that it seems that much of what I do is desirable and people find pleasure in my work. This is a great privilege. And what I am trying to find in this post is a way of saying how I feel when someone goes into a gallery and asks for a discount on the price.
Some years ago a gallery I showed with phoned. There was a man in the gallery who wanted to buy a painting of a red winged angel.