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"Are you an artist?"

The question never fails to unnerve me. Someone I don't know has caught me in the act of creating something, or sketching out an idea, and they want to know. Folks who make art for a living or exhibit in festivals probably roll off an easy "yes, I am."

So why does that question give some of us a sinking feeling?

Think back to your school days. If you were lucky enough to have an art class, you were given an assignment, usually to draw or paint something. Invariably, there was someone in the class who could "really draw." They inspired a kind of awe when the teacher picked up work to show others as an example. "Wow," we thought, "they can draw!"

My elementary school art teacher, Mrs. Kellogg, once singled out Eddie, the class clown, for the exterior of a house he had drawn. I knew he was in for a degrading experience, and even in the fourth grade, I knew I did not like it when she held up his painting and asked rhetorically, "Who would be able to see out of a house's windows when they are so close to the floor?"

So, rather authoritatively, I answered "the mice." The class laughed, Eddie's moment on the hot seat was deflected, and the teacher, with all her bona fide art expertise, was derailed from dishing out further humiliation. That's what art feels like to some people, an exercise in humiliation.

"I can't draw."

How many of you have said that to yourselves at various times in your life? I did, for 12 years. What, in our heart of hearts, do we believe artists do? They draw. If we cannot draw, ergo, we are not artists. This is a vicious cycle of self-defeat, and it can really stymie us when something in our lives needs creating. Well, brothers and sisters, I'm here to give you the good word ... people don't have to be able to draw to make art. So let's get over that right here and now.

A few times in my life, I was invited to talk to schoolchildren about art. My favorite thing was to show examples of Picasso's "Don Quixote" ink drawing, which appears childlike (deceptively so), as well as select abstract work, Matisse cutouts and outsider art pieces.

Invariably, some smart-alecky kid (isn't that the best kind?) would say, "Aw, I could do that." Snared in my trap, I sprung loose with the big message of the day: "I bet you could. The big difference between you and this artist is that this artist sat down and DID it." I then explained how these kids could make and embellish their own handmade books to work in. They could use discarded boxes or paper grocery bags if they didn't have "real paper." The genie was out of the bottle. To make art, they just had to DO it.

In the next column, I'll concentrate on artists who work on a very large scale. You can see the work of these artists throughout Southwest Virginia. Their work is sought out by other artists and their imagery is often emulated in the artwork of others. Amazingly, if you walked up and asked these people if they were artists, they would say "No, no, I'm no artist."

Culture Vulture Miriam Young is a creative director living in color in Roanoke. Note: Some Web links provided may contain art featuring nudity, strong political content and bizarre visions. Parental guidance is suggested. Respect the copyrights of the owners when visiting online galleries and obtain artists' permission before downloading any images.

Look for the Culture Vulture's next column on Aug. 25.