Voice

For a long time I lost the joy I used to have when creating art. It can be really disheartening to realize suddenly that the thing that used to come naturally, that gave you energy and brought you joy, no longer does any of that. Self-doubt crept in, and I wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it anymore. Every so often I would crack open an old notebook, look at the ideas and sketches I’d made, then feel bad, sigh, and put it away. Maybe art just wasn’t for me anymore, or maybe I’d just never been that good anyhow, so what was the point.

That started to change about a year ago when I was encouraged to just make art anyway. To make it just for me, and just to make it.

Like starting to exercise again after being out of shape, it was a bit of a rusty start. Initially I second-guessed and constrained myself a lot: I should draw this way, in this medium, or in this style. I shouldn’t work big or buy these supplies until I know what I’m doing. Whenever that might be.

I began to feel confident when I finally gave myself permission to buy a lyre easel and a giant, unwieldy roll of kraft paper. I could make as many pieces as I wanted, big or small, and if I messed up, I could just rip off another sheet and keep going. I didn’t feel obligated to treat the materials as too precious to “waste” by trying something that might not work. It was liberation.

This flew against my past instinct to aim for perfection and only move forward when I felt sure that what I was doing was “right.” The other thing I used to do before was play it more safe, which usually meant removing the bits that other people might find weird or not “get.” Creating for an imaginary audience. It’s no wonder that eventually making art lost its magic, since those were the bits that made my thing interesting and unique. Those things are my voice.

This is not to say that my current work is without thought or intent - I put a lot of both into what I do. But now I also ask myself: What drives me? What do I want to explore? What will I do to move my art forward today?

Now I give myself permission to do what seems scary or even wrong, to embrace the awkward and uncomfortable, and to go as slow or fast as I want. It’s a much more vulnerable and rewarding place to be. It’s still a work in progress. I am learning to feel proud to share what I find beautiful and interesting, and to be okay with knowing that what I do won’t resonate with everyone. And that’s fine.

I create art because I have visions that I want to turn into reality with my hands, to tell a story or express a feeling. It’s enough to say to myself: “I find this interesting. Let’s see where it goes.”