Recently, it occurred to me that there is an artist nesting inside everyone. Within me, this artist has taken many forms, a metamorphosis that has shaped not only my work but also who I am.
My journey in artistic expression began with prose – words were my initial muse. They danced from my mind to the paper with a grace I could never replicate in the physical world. They were my partners in the intimate tango of storytelling. Each sentence was a step, each paragraph a pivot, turning my inner monologue into a dance I could share.
But, as with all first loves, my relationship with prose evolved. It was not replaced, but rather it expanded, growing wings in the form of photography and the written word combined. I began to see the world through a lens of light and shadow, moments captured in the click of a shutter, and stories told in a single, still frame. Photography became my voice when words seemed inadequate, filling the spaces between my sentences with color and contrast.
This evolution, however, was not without its growing pains. I used to suffer for my art, pouring every ounce of my being into the creation of something that felt worthy of the world’s eyes. Sleepless nights, countless drafts, and discarded photographs all testified to the relentless pursuit of my craft. Although the nature of my art has changed, this suffering has not. It’s a constant companion, reminding me that what I create is not just for art’s sake, but for my own sake, too.
Artistic expression, in any form, is not for the faint of heart. It requires surrendering a piece of your soul, a slice of your self to be laid bare. Whether I am working with words or capturing an ephemeral moment through my camera, I am acutely aware of the sacrifice entailed. Yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is my path, one that I tread with a reverence for the process and a heart full of passion for the outcome.
As I continue to evolve as an artist, I embrace this nesting spirit within me. I know that my prose and my photographs are reflections of me. Yes, I may always suffer for my art, but in this suffering I find the greatest joy, the most profound meaning, and my truest sense of self.
The artist within me will never be static, nor will the forms it chooses to take. So, I look forward to the next evolution, the next chapter in this ever-unfolding story of artistic self-discovery. As long as I breathe, there will be art in my soul, ever changing, ever growing, and forever a reflection of the world through my own eyes.
November 4, 2023