ARTIST

I woke today thinking about my journey back to my inner artist. The last few years have been an emotional, action-packed ride back to my soul’s recognition. I have been unblocking my inner artist. At a young age, I was told my creations were no good, whether it was a piece of writing, a paper mâché cat I was forming in art class, or an outfit I so meticulously pieced together for class photos. From a young age, I listened to a select few naysayers who would directly cause me to shut down and bury my inner artist. A few people, with a few opinions, can impact our life trajectory entirely. Crazy. How one negative, insignificant comment becomes gospel to our ears. Criminal. It was as if being an artist was not an option for me. Not as a career, anyway.

Since middle school, I have hidden away my inner artist. I carefully packed her away in the faraway reaches of a closet I built. I’ve been sensitive from the start. I always felt every feeling times ten, and being “sensitive” felt like a bad quality I needed to fix. So, naturally, I became tough, buried my feelings deeper, built a fortress around me, and became what I call “a cool girl” to manage my emotions, “Just be cool, Maggie, be cool with everything.” I made myself appear unphased by the world around me. I learned to never ask for what I need, speak up for myself, or become a bother in any way. A thick layer of armor engulfed me.

I’ve always ended up in careers that were not quite right. I never entirely go for what I want, always side-shuffling along, going for the safer option. Don’t get me wrong, I have had many wonderful jobs and have enjoyed doing much “life research” trying to figure out who I am, but now I’ve reached this place where I immediately know when I’m not aligned. Like sirens going off in my body, I feel trapped. Feelings of boredom creep in, and I think, “Work harder. You’re being lazy,” but it’s my mind’s way of saying, “Pay attention. You’re trying to fit where you no longer belong.” I’ve always tried to change something about myself, to fit into places where I don’t belong, probably because I buried my need to express and create deep away in that closet years ago.

Pulling out the girl I buried has been a challenge. Painful, truly. A lot of tears, a lot of tough feelings, a lot of phone calls to friends saying, “Am I ever going to be okay?” a lot of “God, help me” moments. Getting to know your inner artist is work, and finding your way back, fully and completely, feels like a full-time job. A job I didn’t realize I was signing up for in this lifetime. Being an artist and living as an artist takes courage. A lot of courage. There’s no denying that. For many of us, getting there is too hard. We simply don’t want to do that kind of work, but the pain of not becoming becomes insurmountable for others. That’s how it’s been for me; I can no longer deny my inner artist. She needs me, and I need her.

I’ve spent a lot of time around artists. I’ve worked for them, supported them, and loved them. I’ve kept many journals of my designs and ideas but never acted on them. My brain bursts at the seams with inspiration and ideas, and I have nowhere to put them, causing frustration, anger, and sadness to spill out everywhere—unfulfilling jobs encapsulating my life. The work of not being an artist becomes more work than being an artist. Exhausted by it all, no longer able to live in combat with my inner artist, I’ve learned how to surrender and begin the journey back to self.

I had been making my art for years, but my “Series of 9” pieces were the first I had ever put up in public. They mean more to me than anyone will ever know; they are my essence, my soul exemplified. Those pieces represent the first time I ever took my art seriously, the first time I planned, executed, and actively put up myself for the world to see. Looking at them brings much joy to my soul. The joy that only comes from creating something and putting it out there. That’s what I want to keep living for.

Right after I finished “Series of 9,” I heard Rick Rubin say, “If you like it, that’s all of the value.” His words hit me at a perfect moment because I was receptive to what he meant. Now, when I am completing a project, I say to myself, “If I love it, that’s all that matters,” and it pushes me forward to share my art with others. With my creations, I never have to please anyone but myself.

On this journey, I remind myself that becoming is messy and ugly, and I will 100% look stupid to others in the process, but at least I’m doing it, and that will always feel better than not. Plus, messy and ugly is pretty darn beautiful.