Critiques used to be the hardest part of being an artist. The thought of displaying my work- paintings that I'd poured my soul into- up in front of everyone to see, to evaluate, to judge; it was scary.
But critiques don't make me nervous anymore. Take it or leave it, this is my art and I'm proud of what I create.
Nope, critiques don't scare me, but my artist statements sure do. Their vulnerability, the fact that I'm not really a poet (yet I tend to write in prose), the fact that my words can easily be misconstrued or misinterpreted- it's all a bit terrifying.
I write my statements in pieces- jotting down lines as they come to me. Constantly collecting little bits of the final piece as I'm painting, driving, talking, even sleeping. Eventually all the pieces are there and I just have to arrange them.
And when I read it and a tightness forms in the back of my throat? The one we all feel when we're overcome or about to cry? That's when I know it's finished.
When it's just raw enough that I'm almost too afraid to share it.
Last night I switched two words in the ASHES statement (poem?) and the tightness came.
So now it's time to share.
“That’s not empathy
it’s trauma
A heightened sensitivity borne from years
Tiptoeing around the eggshells littered across your floor.
Exhale.
You do not need permission to case off your armor
To release the breath you’ve held inside.
Unpack your laundry
Let the golden rays wash it anew while
Your delicate heart mends.
Fragile, but unbroken.
Strengthened by emotional kintsugi
(Being unaccepted does not make you
unacceptable)
Set those thoughts on fire
Watch them spark and burn
Fleeting choreography twisting in the breeze
Wipe the soot from your eyes- the charred
Remnants from under your nails.
Spread your wings
Stretch their muscles and
Rise from the ashes
Reborn.”