“Creators of any kind must find their voice. Our voice is our essence, writ plain for the world to see.”
How beautiful! We hear about this voice finding a lot, especially in writing circles. When I googled ‘finding your voice’ I got 18,600,000 results, and by chance Leo wrote a post on it just yesterday. I made the picture above and wrote about it myself exactly two years ago on my first blog. Why, I wonder, am I writing about it again? Perhaps because once again I
lost misplaced and rediscovered my elusive voice.
The thing is, we all have a voice and we use it every day, but when it comes to our creative work we seem to have trouble holding on to our voice and/or vision. My last two posts were on information overload and weighing my art down with unrealistic social responsibilities. Those are two ways I lost my way and there are so many more. That this happens is not what I wish to explore, rather what to do when it does.
I discovered last week that it was the matter of a few simple questions. I spent an hour pouring over my dilemma (what is my art about?) with creative coach and fellow Scoutie Girl writer Laura Simms. An hour is not a long time when you are delving into the corridors of my mind, but Laura knows how to ask the right questions. You see, we always have the answers in us, and we never really lose anything, we just aren’t so good at asking our own questions.
When we remember, it is as if the lights got turned on in a dark room. “Oh there is my voice, how silly to have left it there. I must remember to leave the light on this time.”
Laura got me to remember that my art is my voice for stories, for conversations between my imagination and memory. I majored in Illustration in college for a reason, I wanted to speak in pictures. My pictures (and my writing) are a way to tell you what I love and what I fear, what I know and what is in the wild places of my mind. I want to show you magical discoveries I find with my camera and the layers of memories long ago and yet to be.
Laura asked a lot of great questions, but the one that really brought me home was, “Tell me, what do you love about what you do?” It was then I remembered the exploring, and discovery, and the magical way a camera has taught me to see. To remember I need only really look at the work. From this place I can start over again, redesigning my website and stating my intentions. Beginnings are always good, even when they are reruns.