As a kid, I ruined the expo markers by obsessively drawing Spiderman on the whiteboard in my kitchen. Art was also my tool to process life, like the nuances of being an American missionary kid in Jordan.
The bumps started in college. I started to compare myself to students around me and try to be the best. I entered graduate school thinking I was hot stuff.
Then, a mold sensitivity triggered a couple seizures and I started to have chronic anxiety about everything, including my art. I received a lot of criticism about my art from peers. I swung from ‘I’m the best!’ to ‘Oh my, I’m a fake!’ Unable to handle the pressure, I dropped out.
I gave up art for about half a year and didn’t think I’d return to it.
Then, I realised art was not the problem. My relationship to it was. By hanging my sense of value on it, I didn’t allow it to become what it’s meant to be - a place of free play and curiosity. When I let go of the self-imposed pressure to be perfect, I started making my best work.
I stopped trying to imitate other artists, and began discovering my unique vision.
I started trusting my instincts.
I became friends with uncertainty and relearned how to take creative risks.
Facing into the unknown is always scary, but it’s a risk I’ve learned to take because that’s where beauty lies. I hope you’ll join me.
