Oh, the art I would make if I didn’t have to worry about being mediocre just to sell it. What a tantalizing thought! I’ve been mulling over this idea lately, imagining the vibrant colors and bold strokes I would unleash if I weren’t shackled by the fear of turning people off. There’s a whole universe of creativity waiting to burst forth if I could shake off the anxiety of marketability and acceptance.

Women have always been the heartbeat of creativity—a pulse that thrums beneath the surface of a world too often deafened to their voices. I sit here wondering why we so frequently let our whispers dissolve into the air, unheard and unacknowledged. It is a strange paradox, this power we hold, yet so many of us remain muted, as if our art were a fragile thing, too delicate to withstand the scrutiny of the world.

When did creativity become just another chore on the endless list, like laundry, folded into the fabric of daily obligations? It strikes me that when we treat it as such, the act of creation slips into the rhythm of life with surprising ease; it takes far less time to do.

I have been thinking a lot about the different aspects of my process that help me feel more loose and free while creating. One of the biggest things that helps me get out of my own way is listening to music while I am creating. I was in the studio last night and I was really struck with just how much music helps me. This is from my journal this morning.

I am the alchemist. Yes, the alchemist. It feels oddly grand to consider myself in such terms, as I sit here, enveloped by the remnants of my day of artistic chaos, pondering whether I can truly transform these fractured pieces of my life into something greater.

I realized today while stewing in the stillness of my studio, surrounded by the ghosts of unfinished canvases, I’m encountering a new kind of resistance, a block birthed from the insatiable growth of my inner critic, that relentless specter who has morphed into a veritable tyrant.

I wrote this in 2022, at the end of a year that felt like a turning point, a crossroads where the paths of accomplishment and uncertainty converged. I had achieved so much, yet I found myself wrapped in an irony so thick it was almost tangible, laughing with strangers and schmoozing with potential collectors, all the while discussing my artistic process until the words became a blur.

I am a maker. This simple declaration resonates deeply within me, echoing through the chambers of my heart like a song that refuses to be silenced.

I keep going back to a thing I think is fundamental and something that beginning artists/creatives always forget. The truth is, what that distinguishes professional artists from those who are just dipping their toes into the vast ocean of creativity is this, making a lot of bad art is part of the process.

Today, I’m thinking about something that feels like a profound realization, something that feels both liberating and terrifying: letting others see you struggle is freedom! What a wild thought! For so long, I’d worn the mask of perfection, the facade that everything was neat and tidy, that I had it all figured out.

I want you to know that I understand you’re afraid. It’s okay. I am too. Fear has this funny way of wrapping itself around us, doesn’t it? It’s like a thick fog that can obscure our vision and make the world feel daunting.

The creative process is like going for a midnight walk in a dark forest with a flashlight and no map. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth, the kind of darkness that seeps into your bones, making your heart pound with the rhythm of uncertainty. The beam of light flickers, illuminating patches of reality, but the shadows loom larger, whispering secrets of the unknown. I clutch the flashlight like a lifeline, yet I cannot see the end from the beginning.

I want to take a moment to reach out to you, to speak directly to your heart, your spirit, and your creative soul. Life can sometimes feel like a heavy weight pressing down on us, and let’s not kid ourselves—there are moments when it feels like the darkness is closing in.

When life gets busy, art is nearly always the first thing to go. It’s as if the universe conspires against our creativity, whispering sweet nothings that lure us away from our canvas, our pen, our instruments. The to-do lists swell, the responsibilities multiply, and before we know it, our artistic pursuits—the very things that feed our souls—are shoved to the periphery.

People hate their own art because it looks like they made it, and in that realization, there lies a peculiar kind of despair. It’s a familiar wretchedness, one that settles in the bones and wraps tight around the heart.

Stop playing it cool, stop the act, stop the pretense, stop the masquerade. Just be passionate, intense, and authentic. Let your heart beat loud, let your voice rise high, let your spirit shine bright. There is beauty in the rawness of emotion, beauty in the intensity of feeling, beauty in the authenticity that flows from your very core.  Playing it cool is a facade, a thin veneer that masks the truth, the truth of who you are, the truth of what you feel. It is a performance, a careful choreography of self-restraint, of guardedness, of holding back, and it does not serve you, no, it does not serve you at all. You are not meant to be an enigma, a puzzle to be solved, a riddle wrapped in a mystery. You are meant to be seen, to be known, to be felt in all your vibrant complexity.

Authenticity and vulnerability are magnetic, drawing people in like a campfire on a cold night. The flickering flames of truth and openness invite us closer, they beckon us to gather round, to share in the warmth, to bask in the light. In the artist’s emotion, we see a reflection of our own, a mirror that reveals the depths of our shared humanity. The artist gives us permission, permission to feel, to dream, to be different, to embrace the unique tapestry of our existence.