An Inauthentic Life

I recently started an ecourse with Kelly Rae Roberts. Her suggestion was to journal about our fears as a way of removing the blocks to our authentic creative self. Before I even had a chance to read her inspiring words I journaled this post while on vacation in PA.
5.30.2010
At 61, the whispers I've heard my whole life have turned to screams. All through life I've ignored their message because I've been in pursuit of money. Whatever I had to do to earn the dime, the quarter, the dollar, the hundreds of dollars at craft fairs, auctions, home shows, and yard sales. The money, always and in all ways it's been about the money.
First I had a father who wouldn't give me a dime that wasn't earned in some way. Then it was the husband who dragged me from one dream to another always depending on me to fill the gaps and stem the flow of cancellations, shut-offs and shortfalls with whatever art form I was involved with at the time. At no time could I afford to listen to those quiet whispers that told me to express myself creatively whether or not it brought in the money.
That's not to say that I haven't lived a creative life. I have most definitely been creative. For over 40 years I have found inspiration in many places and expressed it in a myriad of ways, all of which have brought me moderate fame and some money. BUT...all of the creativity that I have expressed has been 'borrowed' from someone else. At no time has it been authentic.
At no time has that little voice said "Oh yes, Carolyn, yes! This is what you were meant to do!" But wait...that little voice just whispered that's untrue. One time, oh yes, one time it was all about me. My authentic self was given free rein that summer of my 14th year when it was all about my love of sewing. I think of it as the summer of the Singer, the Barbie and Jake's Fabrics. Then, oh, then it was truly me being expressed through needle, thread and fiber. After that intense three months I continued on through high school with sewing and designing my own clothes. I've often wondered what might have happened when I told my parents I wanted to attend F.I.T. in NYC. What if they had said yes instead of an emphatic, NO! Would those whispers have become my authentic voice. Would I really have become the designer I longed to become? And now, 43 years later does it really matter?
I've done everything that others only dream of doing but it has always been me mimicking some other artist's work because it sold well and brought in the much needed money. But now when I listen closely the whispers still persist. Louder now because time is no longer a luxury. And they are saying ..."hurry, hurry...take the time to find your voice before it is silenced forever."

Coincidence or Fate?

I've been battling with my authentic self for weeks, nay months! on what my artist voice should be singing. I have gone back and forth looking at the various online sites to see what was selling; could I do that and did I want to?

Yesterday through a series of coincidences, I now believe in a Universal plan that I had misplaced somewhere along the way to making my art be profitable. I've tried various styles, mediums, surfaces...anything that was selling that I thought I could do as well if not better than the person who was selling it. I got confused and lost and my voice became a squeak in a depth of the blackest night. I was well and truly lost. And being confused is not the way to a healthy mental or physical lifestyle. Especially when one has already been through cancer and needs to keep healthy and stress-free.

It came to a head when I accepted a spot in a one night all out gallery bash in my old home town. I agreed instantly because I was sure it would finally help me decide on what I was 'supposed' to be painting. After 7 weeks of going back and forth and looking at my work I could not find a single thing that was consistent between the pieces other than I had created them with the same paintbrushes and paints. They were a mishmosh of every artist I have ever admired! Holy Cow! Now I knew I was in trouble because gallery night was four nights away and OMG what was I going to do.

Walking about my house and its hidey holes of supplies and such I came across a box of pieces I'd done back in 1996. 1996 was a definitive year for me for a lot of reasons. Not the least of which was I found myself in a position that Hillary Clinton and Elizabeth Edwards have occupied. And as surely as Mrs. Edwards would have sworn on her husband's faithfulness I swore on mine. You know the old saying about the wife being the last to know. It isn't a saying, it is a truth.

Anyway, I found the work I had shown that year. The last year I had a gallery show, the last year I was my true and authentic self. Holding those pieces in my hands I rediscovered myself. How refreshing and how peaceful it is to finally look into that artistic mirror and see your true self looking back at you.

So I have put aside all of those pieces I have painted over the last weeks and months and pulled out of storage the true and authentic artist I knew was hiding somewhere behind the curtains of my doubt and uncertainty. The pieces may or may not sell come Friday night. But the crowds will be friendly, the wine will be great and the work will finally be...authentic!