Changes

Turn and Face the Strain

I recently discovered that my astrological chart is strikingly similar to that of the late beloved David Bowie (may he rest in shimmery peace). Bowie’s artistry always fascinated me. When I first learned about his life and the many faces he presented to the public, I was enamored. There was something about his constant penchant for transformation that made me feel like I belonged somewhere, like there was another human in the world who understood my need for constant growth and expansion. It must be a Capricorn sun/Leo moon thing.

I find great comfort in learning the behind-the-scenes details of the lives of great artists. My life is punctuated by the discoveries I collect about any artist who catches my attention:

The way in which Frida Kahlo painted from her hospital bed while in a body cast, insistent upon communicating her pain, rejecting the title of “surrealist” while her insides sprawled onto the canvas.

The quietness of Henri Matisse’s mother inspiring him to become a painter, encouraging him to be courageous enough to paint his feelings into color, and his later-in-life creative persistence in spite of his failing health.

Hilma af Klint’s fascinating double life: a successful landscape artist by day, a secret spiritualist channel by night, following the lead of her spirit guides to create a massive, innovative collection that would spring her into prominence long after her death.

Mary Oliver’s utter abandon of all earthly luxuries- she only needed the embrace of her daily walk in the woods, sustained by the land, notebook in hand, animal friends ushering her into daily astonishment and wonder at the simple beauties of the world.

Keith Haring’s journals full of mysterious non sequiturs. His deep knowing that he was making a difference somehow, breaking down the barriers between the institutions of the art world and the “ordinary” people in everyday places, reminding us that everyone deserves a place to belong and express themselves.

Sylvia Plath’s illuminating depiction of psychological decline in “The Bell Jar”, her utterly raw vulnerability in recounting the painful details of her journey through the broken mid-twentieth century mental health system.

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As I have traveled my own artistic path, I have found a family of sorts in all of the artists I meet along the way: those who have passed as well as those who live, those who have well-known careers, and those who, like myself, live quiet, almost invisible lives. My artist friends and I talk about the life of the hidden artist. How many of us have there been throughout the centuries? How many beautiful, painstakingly crafted works of art sprout into the world and then simply flit to the ground like a tiny down-feather?

There are many days I am not content with invisibility, and yet, there is a certain danger about being seen in this current world. There is a certain danger in mattering.

Over four years ago, I birthed my own very first creation into this world: my album “Courage” that I clumsily wrote, recorded and produced myself with no prior experience. Yet, “Courage” was created from the raw materials of the mess of a wound that was my entire being at that time. I was a walking heartache, but I wished to be transformed, and art was the means for my alchemical work. “Courage” broke me in so many ways, and it has taken me these four years to recover, but I have discovered more gold within myself than I had ever considered could be there, and I am emerging a new creation.

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While I mine the deepest caverns of my being, I am never unaware of what is happening in the world; instead I discover that I can almost feel the world within myself, the horror and the ecstasy- for that is what life on Earth is: at once both heaven and hell. Every day I consider what my greatest powers of impact might be to do the work in my corner of humanity. I have learned that the most effective way for me to make a positive difference in the world is to identify where my greatest influence lies.

My primary influence, of course, is my family and those closest to me. So much of my energy is poured into those I love because they are mine to love and my love is theirs to have. And at the same time, I view my creative work as my fourth child: I must nurture and cultivate my creative expression because there is so much hope that wants to come through me right now, and our world is starving for hope.

The songs that are flowing through me now are songs of light, hope, courage, and yes, even faith. I am birthing a hope into the world that is not detached from suffering, but was instead born through intense suffering. The first stretch of my authentic artistic expression has, like Kahlo’s, regurgitated itself onto the canvas of my work. Through the painful songs on my album, “Courage”, through my poetry book about healing, “Becoming Eden”, and the many visual art pieces I created during my healing process, I have painted my feelings into color.

Every day I do that day’s necessary work to return to hope because I know that is the only way through. Facing myself- facing the world- facing the strain- I have been completely transformed and now I am able to find faith, hope, and love, even when it’s really, really, really hard to do so. Even in the face of extreme darkness, I know I will always be able to find the light within myself, the same light that is within all of us.