Artists are story tellers. You might not understand the language, but they are all story tellers. To be an artist is to live a lifetime developing your own language to tell that story. This is the reason why we're encouraged to find our own voice. The challenge is that there are no instructions. No one can tell you how to find your voice and it can feel miraculous when you do. What I used to consider the end goal turned out to be just the beginning of a lifetime of commitment to growth, exploration of visual language and development of this "unique voice."

What story am I here to tell?

Over a year and a half ago it was proposed that I tell the story of art. Even the thought of it was so overwhelming that it was paralyzing. Who the hell am I to tell what felt like such a grand story? "No one special enough," I thought. I felt that THE story was reserved for the Masters, whoever that might be. I wrestled with this for MONTHS. Quite honestly I gave so much time and energy to it that it made even creating difficult.

But that is the human experience at its finest. When your emotions demand that we pay attention. Demanding that we feel what we have to feel and work through the difficult stuff. My life-time friend and travel buddy, ever faithful Imposter Syndrome.

Eventually I realized that Art belongs to no one. Everyone's story is worthy and powerful. Art is transformative no matter who makes it, how or why it's made. We are not all meant to be an Ansel Adams, but that does not mean that our work isn't important or impactful. If a piece exists because of you, that someone looks at and appreciates every day, is that not important? We are all worthy of telling our stories. In fact we are called to. That is our legacy.

My newest series is titled "Legacy" and a reflection on what we often consider a legacy and what I hope mine to be. The series started with a painting I titled "Something Important". There was a day that I realized I needed to move on from my place of employment and for some reason all of a sudden I felt a fire in my stomach that I had "something important" to do.