What’s important to you? It’s time to share your story

“I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.” – Ovid 

I decided at a  very young age that I was going to be a writer when I grew up.

More specifically, I wanted to be a poet.

I have always loved how powerful words can be. Each word and line has a weight to it, carefully considered for its meaning and ability to impact the reader.

And so for many years, I was a poet.

I wrote my first collection of poems in high school, my college major was poetry, and I was accepted to a national poetry fellowship after college. I published poems in journals, was nominated for prizes, and worked for a literary non-profit. I filled my shelves with books of poetry.

Above all else, I loved to write and read poems that told a story. A story told with attention to the sound and meaning of each word, to the power of metaphor and a strongly crafted scene. I felt able to write about experiences that felt powerful but painful: the sickness and death of loved ones, betrayals, loss. Also: connection and beauty, the subtle changes of the natural world.

Poetry was my creative outlet for over 10 years.

And yet, as I headed into my mid-20’s, the urge to sit down and write a poem began to lessen.

I still loved words and their ability to remind us of so much – our past experiences, our loves and sadness. I still loved a poem that ended on an image so forceful that I remembered it weeks later, with tears in my eyes or a smile on my face.

I will always love words.

And yet as the days passed I wrote less and less. One day, I realized it had been months since my last poem. Before long, it had been years. I had entered a period of my life where I wasn’t creating at all, and this period lasted several years.

My creative soul was so dry and hidden that I felt an underlying boredom and depression at all times, without fully realizing what was happening.

During these years I tried many times to sit down and write a poem, but couldn’t muster any excitement. Instead I felt guilt, as if I were somehow failing everyone who had believed in me as a poet. I told everyone that I would “write again one day.” Perhaps I believed that, perhaps not.

It took me a long time to recognize that my creative passion had not dried up completely, but rather shifted. Most importantly, it took me a long time to realize that this was completely okay.

I still love telling stories and creating a scene with carefully chosen words. I can still be moved to tears or a smile.

The difference is that now I tell story through paint, allowing one or two selected words to open our minds and gently pull memories to the surface.

Adding words and phrases to my paintings has been a wonderful link back to my life as a poet, but bringing those words to life through paint has added another dimension that has been so powerful to witness: the number of you who have reached out to me with your own stories and memories. 

Instead of simply reading a story I crafted in a poem, many of you have used my paintings to tell your own.

I am so in love with this new development that I could just burst.

Therefore as I begin to create my next series of paintings, I have a question for you:

What words, phrases, or images are the most powerful for you? What makes you light up inside or remember back to an important time in your life? What words make you feel peaceful or strong or happy?

I’d love to know, and those words or phrases or images might just make their way into my new paintings.

Share your story / ideas in the comments below.

xo,