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If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced. ~Vincent Van Gogh
The voice in my head says “you have nothing important to say”,
“there are those that say it better, your voice is redundant”,
“who are you to think you have a message”?
I lay claim to the Word, which says that condemnation does not come from the One for whom I write.
I grasp onto the words of those I love and admire, applying salve to my self-inflicted wounds.
I learn that making art is messy. It requires being willing to share the mess with others. I lay myself bare every time I click publish.
I have been writing in this space for {a wee bit over} three years.
In many ways, my voice has been consistent.
In many ways, my voice has evolved. Matured. Focused.
My writing has been honed, like when I take my wedding rings to be cleaned at the jeweler.
Some people have even paid for my voice on certain subjects and when I have opportunity to share my story in person, it is as if I truly come alive.
I have found my voice.
Now must come the learning to not be afraid to use it.
