Let me (re)introduce myself

How many times has it happened to you? After much trepidation, anxiety, and regret, you agree to attend a friend’s get-together, party, wedding—whatever it is that requires you to pull out those shoes that are way too expensive for everyday use in the back of your closet. You manage to curate a look that doesn’t make you look like a ghoul haunting your neighbors on the street. You trek by plane, car, bike, (I’m not judging your transit choices) to the event. 

You go over the list of topical conversation starters in your head:

“Have you heard the latest Khruangbin album?”

“I think corduroy is making a comeback.” 

“How does my computer know I want to order that leopard print thong?”

You also have a list of conversation enders ready to go as well:

“I think {name a politician] is gonna save our country.”

“Taxes are just a suggestion.”

“Yes, I work out five days a week.”

But no matter how prepared you are to engage with strangers, friends, and frenemies in a confined space stacked with light hors d'oeuvres and liquor, you always get stumped by this question.

“So what do you do?”

To humanity’s credit, we don’t just ask this introductory question off the jump anymore. We’ve been shamed to pretend we care about other attributes of strangers, like their health and well-being. But what you do is really what people care about. And they care because they want (no, need) to place you in a societal hierarchy in their minds. This is why so many people will suffer 20 years of education and student loans for a “can’t argue” solid profession like lawyer or doctor. And the less money and lower your job falls on the hierarchy, the more words you use to describe yourself. 

“I am a liaison between global buyers and a huge supply chain company” really just means Amazon Delivery guy, but you know how this rolls. And the worst thing, the WORST thing you want to be when this conversation comes up is an artist. The sheer pity that befalls a person’s face when you tell them you are a 52-year-old man who has an active relationship with paper mache and watercolors is an unmatched burden you have to carry. 

For years, I hated this question. Mostly because for years I have been creative. Whether that be a fiction author, a journalist, or now an illustrator and visual artist, the title doesn’t matter. Introducing yourself as an artist means setting yourself up to be judged. Or at least I thought. 

Lately, my mind has traveled beyond the judgment that may come from a particular profession, and I am more focused on the pure privilege to introduce myself to another human being. Each time you introduce yourself to someone, you get to tell them who YOU are. You get to share whatever you like with that person. It’s a rare form of freedom I have translated into a burden for years. Ultimately, however, I feel like there are so many ways I am invisible in society. I am older and not the center of the universe anymore (I never was but when you’re younger, people lean into your potential). If you want to feel invisible, go to a bar as a 50-something man and watch a group of young people treat you worse than how the internet treated Madame Web.

As I age, however, I realize that saying who I am out loud is not a pain, it’s a joyful celebration. One of which I am more grateful than ever to have. Will the judgment still be there? Well, of course. But I get to control my message and tell people what excites me about my work, my journey, the creative life, and being an artist. If they walk away to catch the last crab cake, that’s their loss.

This is why in addition to my weekly newsletter, I wanted to also start writing a blog to delve deeper into the mechanics of being an artist, including my workflow and process. Because by saying who I am and showing what I do, maybe someone will want to collaborate, or better yet, maybe someone will be inspired to follow the same path. 

Introductions can be hard, and humiliating, but they can be the first step to a connection with a person you never thought you would have before. 

So one more time, for all the folks in the back, let me introduce myself: 

“Hi, My name is George Kevin Jordan and I am an artist.“

52 Weeks

Illustration by George Kevin Jordan

Question What would your life look like if you spent a year intentionally focused on something? Not just leap frogging around trying to figure something out. But really zeroed in on a project, person, your job, whatever. What if you really had a plan of action and stuck with it. What if you held yourself accountable? What if you pushed yourself while also offering grace?

This is what I want to do with my art practice. Don’t get me wrong for a guy who didn’t know anything about art two years ago, I think I’ve done alright. I’ve done group shows, sold pieces, figured a lot out about what I wanted to make, and why. But I know I can do more. 

Over the next year I am going to spend 52 weeks building a practice up with purpose, prayer, and intentionality. Why not start in January like a normal human, you ask? I thought about that. But I have so many resolutions that have died on the hill of broken promises. I want to disrupt the pattern. I want to start when I start. 

I also pondering just putting this on my newsletter Oh, F@#k: I’m an Artist! But that space is more about thought leadership and broader ideas. Here I want to explore my process, how I get things done, and ways to improve as I go along. 

I decided to write about this journey here. And when I have lots to say, I may write something bigger, or do a video. The point is I want to really grow, and I am inviting you to grow with me. 

Each week I am going to focus on a small task, while creating larger goals and missions, and record the process, ups, down, and distractions. Nothing is off the table. Nothing is too big or too small. My hope is to become a better artist. But honestly if I walk away more attentive to my heart and inner voice I think I win. So stay tuned for 52 weeks each Tuesday. Let’s get to work.