Over the past few years I've thought constantly about the word dilettante.
“A person whose interest in a subject is superficial rather than professional.
A person who loves the arts.
Word Origin and History
1733, borrowing of Italian dilettante “lover of music or painting,” from dilettare “to delight,” from Latin delectare.”
There's a sadness I experience when I think of the noble origins of this word, to delight in the arts, and how it's evolved into a derision of superficial, shallow interest.
I wouldn't dare call myself a 'writer'. For the past two years I've been writing words on loose papers, almost daily. But it's only recently that I've started to put in the real work, of taking unstructured ideas and trying to create some logic out of them, of selecting and editing words, and of cutting - so much cutting. Every day, the writing feels like work. There are moments where I don't want to do it. Sometimes I don't know if I will have ideas, or I think I'll write something stupid. There are times when I start off with one thing, work on it for an hour or two, and realize that it's flat and I throw it all out.
But I think this has been a definitive point in the process, the moment that separates superficial interest from commitment to an activity - when we do things that are hard, when what we are doing feels like work. This marks the difference between doing something for the sake of novelty, and doing something for the sake of learning. If it's something trendy, something we can take a photo of and put in on social media, something we're using to gain external validation rather than something that arises from a sincere interest in cultivating progress, then I can see why dilettante has earned its negative connotation.
We respect instances where someone has put in effort, has persevered. It's something that can't be falsely purchased - this time and effort investment. Spending money on the best piano and the best teacher cannot replace the practice. When I see massive ancient trees, or when I'm waiting for orchid buds to open, it's the time, the patience, the perseverance that I think of.
But is there need for such a strong distinction between those who are professional artists and those who are not? For those of us who have genuine interest in an activity, and are willing to dedicate time and effort to this activity - but who are not professionals in this activity - can we give ourselves this freedom to pursue it without being labelled a dilettante, an amateur?
This societal and psychological barrier makes it hard for ordinary people to think of themselves as artistic or creative individuals, simply because they went to school for a different course of study; I think it's a loss that we limit ourselves with these definitions.