Sure, I’m often jealous of their ability to create something beautiful and appealing to the senses, and the way the thing they picture in their mind somehow comes out through their fingers or eyes or mouths looking pretty much like the original.
There certainly have been times I wished I could pull off some of their wardrobe choices. And who wouldn’t want an excuse to browse brushes, paints, pens, instruments, fibers, papers, glazes and tools. Or to feel the medium under your hands or hear the music through your headset and know that the sculpture is emerging from the proverbial marble.
No, the thing that really gets me about artists–especially, I would imagine, those with some level of formal experience–is their ability to stand up in front of people and to articulate the abstract ideas, themes and emotions that went into their work, to explain their process and to own their decisions without the hemming and hawing and self-doubt that most of us exhibit when we’re accepting a compliment on our shoes.