We are standing in what I can only describe as a big warehouse of junk, my paintings strewn about on top of piles of stuff. Séraphine Pick is looking over my work and frowning. She picks up a painting and inspects it closely, then looks up at me, scowling. “Where did you go to art school?” My heart sinks.

This never happened, of course. It was the content of an anxiety-ridden dream of mine in the week leading up to my studio showing, marking the official end of the d/Deaf and/or disabled artist residency I’ve been doing at Toi Pōneke, Wellington’s arts centre.

When imposter syndrome and self-doubt floods in

Séraphine Pick seemed perfectly lovely in the chance encounter I had with her when I was visiting the McLeavy Gallery a week earlier. But showing work is nerve-wracking, and the addition of not having been to art school is a real kicker when the imposter syndrome and self-doubt floods in.

I’ve always dreaded my show openings. But they must be done because creating personal connections is everything in the art world. Unfortunately, it’s almost always who you know that counts.

I had thought briefly about going to art school as a teenager. My  mother had gone to art school and I’ve always felt like an artist even when I wasn’t making art. Through my teens and young adulthood I was constantly overcome with an intense urge to paint but I always thought I couldn’t because of the way cerebral palsy had affected my hands.

Once the urge was so strong, I marched downstairs to my mother’s studio, took a tube of paint and proceeded to smother my metal bed frames in it. The paint oozed into the holes where it had once been connected to a bunk bed. It wouldn’t dry. I wanted to go to bed. I proceeded to wipe it off. 

The only people I knew who went to art school either had financial support in some way from their parents or the ability to work casual jobs such as hospo to get by. Anyone who has seen me try to carry a drink will understand why hospitality was not an option for me.

Making hand-scooped ice creams

I did have a job in high school, working in a dairy. I was absolutely terrible at my job, which included making hand-scooped ice creams. I didn’t have the strength or reach to scoop out the frozen solid ice cream.

My left hand has the functionality of an arcade game claw and it had a habit of obliterating the ice cream cones. These moments were painful for everyone and somewhat traumatic for my internalised ableism and shame.

Eventually, the manager just stopped giving me shifts but kept me on the roster to avoid firing me. I am probably still on the roster till this day. 

I was hell bent on never ending up in a position where I’d have to attempt jobs that made me feel even more disabled. I needed certainty of a job and income.

Growing up disabled in Southland in the 90s had made me feel an intense need to prove myself to others as worthy enough and capable. I could not risk failure. Teaching was something I could physically do and I had the head for it. It generally comes with a salary and a permanent contract. Being an artist does not. 

I started painting when my mother passed away. At her funeral one of her students said that my mother had told her, “anyone can learn to paint. It’s a learned skill, not an innate talent”.

Painting awoke something primal in me and enabled me to connect with a deeply repressed version of myself. It feels like painting is who I am but to do it for a living, I need to be known. In art, it is always about who you know and if you haven’t been to art school, the chances of you knowing the right people are slim.

There are a lot of extremely talented artists in New Zealand who aren’t getting anywhere. Unfortunately, there is no clear “hard work = success” pathway.

Barriers to attending art school

Art school helps to create that pathway but people with disabilities have even more barriers to attending art school and establishing a successful career in the arts because we have fewer back-up options and more needs to be met.

I have worked very hard to get to where I am with my art so far but a great deal of my success has been down to pure luck in meeting some incredible people who have encouraged me, empowered me and supported me to get here.

Toi Pōneke has been a massive part of that pathway because they gave me my first serious exhibition in 2021 despite my lack of experience, and that enabled me to get a Springboard Award from Te Tumu Toi Arts Foundation in 2021.

Getting this year’s Toi Pōneke’s d /Deaf and disabled artist residency has given me a massive step up, and time and space to focus on my work in a way I had never been able to before.

Opportunities such as this solely for Deaf or disabled artists can work to level the playing field. But ultimately, artists become successful when people and organisations make time to support them despite where they come from or how they present on paper. 

Maisie Chilton’s exhibition, featuring work from her Toi Pōneke residency, will open in the Art Attic Gallery in Invercargill on Friday 13 June. There will be an artist talk on 14 June and the exhibition will close on 19 July.