Some might say I'm a colorful person, but I'm not a person of color. If that's what you're asking ;-)

Could be classism, totally. To be fair though, I think we've got a little bit of that going on as well. My dad was a plumber and I remember stumbling upon a giant painting he did on a large piece of drywall. Must've been in the wake of my parent's divorce. I didn't even know he could do that and for all I can tell it was the only painting he ever did. He never even mentioned it, despite having talent. Being an artist? Might as well could've told him to become an astronaut. Seriously.

Then you've got plenty of college educated snobs, who sneer at the thought of working class people doing their own art. Like legit dirt shoveling, straight from the construction site type of beer drinking blue-collar workers. Could be because they're not adhering to implied rules and regulations, like in terms of what constitutes being a proper "artiste", or just them potentially ruining the scam. You know, the whole Wizard of Oz, don't mind the man behind the curtain type of thing. Unless you're legitimately undeniably great, but ironically enough they then might end up building a phantasmagoria around you. Because you couldn't just be a guy, you know?

Personally I recall a rare visit to big art store. It sounds absurd, but it really felt like I was having a fever dream. Each way I looked I saw guys wearing black turtle necks and french berets smugly jibber jabber about their paint brushes and who knows what. Then a frigid looking woman would walk by and winkle her nose at a mom browsing magic markers and mumble some thinly veiled insult. It was weird. Not even good weird, just weird. Back home I felt dirty. So much so I almost trashed my own art. I can't properly articulate the sentiment, but I just stood there hovering over my doodles in silence. Like some kind of conflicted farmer with a revolver in his hand, thinking about putting down a sick horse.