The Labels We Live By
FM (Friday Morning) Reflection #37
On a recent Saturday afternoon, I popped my laptop open on the kitchen counter for a call with my friend Lena. She is many things: the co-owner of a neon light studio in New York City, an artist, and an operations partner at a company whose platform enables artists to easily co-create, distribute, and monetize new works together.
We went deep into conversation about user experiences, the customer journey, and branding on the company’s site when Lena pointed out that they intentionally appeal to creative people rather than focusing on artists. But, she wondered, might it be better to include “artist” in the name?
I had a strong, immediate reaction to the idea, and it took me a moment to synthesize my thoughts and feelings. I wondered aloud if branding “for artists” could be limiting. “I’m a writer and a photographer, but I wouldn’t say I’m an artist,” I confessed.
After all, I don’t have an art degree. My painting skills are limited to the interior walls of my home, and I don’t always get good reviews on those works. Me… an artist?
“It’s something I’ve thought a lot about,” Lena offered, sharing that she was also torn about the interchangeability of “creator” and “artist.” Our conversation moved on, but my mind wasn’t ready to let it go. Why did I have such a visceral reaction to the A-word?
Untangling the Knot
After we wrapped up, a knot of tension lingered with me for the rest of the day, in my gut and just below the surface of my consciousness. I’ve learned to be comfortable with this sensation; my mind tends to keep churning on dissonance even when I’m not consciously thinking about it. Then, ta-da! New ideas often arrive when I’m out for a walk, in the shower, or making breakfast—a phenomenon I’ve written about before in What to Do When Inspiration is a No Show.
The next morning, as sunlight filtered through the window, I woke to an avalanche of ideas. I fumbled for my phone to record several voice memos in a sleepy, just-woke-up voice before they could sublimate into the details of the day.
It was clear by then that my reaction was a projection, based on my own discomfort with calling myself an artist.
One of the voice memos was about how we internalize the sense of what groups we belong to. The literal definition of an artist encompasses anyone who creates with “conscious skill and creative imagination,” a category that includes writing and photography. I check several of those boxes. So why the hesitation?
This wasn't the first time I'd faced this. It reminded me of a conversation from about ten years ago when I was meeting with Stephan, then director of music at the Episcopal cathedral in Cincinnati, where I’d been in the choir for many years including as a paid singer. We were wrapping up when my daughter walked into his office and asked him a question. I don’t remember the question, but his answer just about knocked me over. He said, “Your father is a musician…”
The world seemed to stop spinning. I had a physical reaction to Stephan’s words, realizing with a jolt that I had never, ever called myself a musician. This was coming from a man I deeply respected, who had welcomed me in his professional and highly accomplished music program.
And he was right. At the time, I was singing multiple times a week in the choir, organizing the music program for cathedral services in the park, researching and reinterpreting music from the 1600s, and leading an early music vocal ensemble. I was a musician.
So I pulled myself out of bed and dropped Lena a message. “I’ve changed my view that the word ‘artist’ is a problem,” I started, going on to reflect that we often limit ourselves with words—and that other people do that to us, too. Perhaps this was an opportunity to choose a different path.
The Polymath's Penalty
This tendency to put ourselves in boxes, or to feel we don’t fit neatly in one, has a professional angle. I’ve had recruiters confide that it is confusing to hiring managers when many diverse roles are listed on a LinkedIn profile. They’ve said it leads them to question one’s commitment or focus.
This is a failure to see the person behind the resume which is a core responsibility of a recruiter. It’s disheartening to think that people with multifaceted backgrounds—who bring more diverse perspectives and additive experiences—might be intentionally passed over because their resume doesn’t fit a neat, narrow specialization.
It creates an invisible barrier for those of us who, as I wrote a few months ago, are More Than One Thing. We internalize this pressure, and it can make us hesitate to show up fully at work and in life.
Punch Your Own Card
I’m currently reading Antimemetics: Why Some Ideas Resist Spreading by Nadia Asparouhova. She asserts early on in the book that “how we think directly influences how we act.” I believe she’s right.
Words are expressions of concepts and abstract thoughts. Words have power. Brands know this. Social movements know this. They adopt words and use them to shape identity and signal values. We can do the same for ourselves. By being mindful of the words we use—not just with others, but in our internal monologue—we can redefine our own boundaries.
After reflecting on my conversation with Lena, I realized I am an artist. It was a declaration I needed to make for myself, and now I’m happy to adopt it. I am also a writer. I am a musician. I’m a photographer. I’m a media producer. I’m a business intrapreneur. More than one thing.
So, why am I writing this? Do I have a Top 5 List of hot takes for you? Not today. What I have to offer is this honest look at a moment of uncertainty and what I took away from it.
In that doubt, I had a realization: I have the power to punch my own card and enter the “artist” club. You probably have a membership card, too, for a club you didn’t realize you were already a member of.
Maybe it’s time to claim it.
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Photo Bonus
It can feel like we’re alone when we’re forced to confront our inner shadows. That’s one of the feelings that I get from this image from the beach at Atlantic City on a blustery, cool and cloudy day.
At first glance, I was unhappy with the way it turned out because there are multiple technical defects in the image – a failure of the film’s opacification layer at the bottom created white streaks, the rollers on my Polaroid SX-70 were dirty and left a vertical line of repeating spots, and the air temperature caused the color to shift toward blue tones. So I put it away and wasn’t sure I’d keep it.
But I came across the image again as I started to write this piece and had a completely different impression. The technical character as well as the composition is what gives this image its emotional resonance. I just needed to step outside of my own head and assumptions about what fits and what doesn’t to see it.