An artist’s benediction

On showing up to your blank page

I have earned conditions that offer blank, open space to get started.

I’m allowed this time and space.

I understand it’s natural to feel guilt or shame (in here) because art asks us to feel everything.

I can encourage my healthier self.

What I’m doing here now supports the future me. When I step fully in, I’m building the bravery required to show up the next time.

I can ask my cerebral and intuitive instincts to show me what I need to know.

I can face what scares me the most (gradually, without forcing).

I know my voice of fear sometimes sounds exactly like my voice of truth. Sometimes they’re actually the same thing.

No one is forcing me here.

I will reassure myself that this place is safe, even when it’s insecure.

I can pause or ask for help when it feels like too much.

I will stay here for the sake of being here, discovering moments that bring me joy.

I can step away when it’s simply too painful and take myself on a nice walk.

I know that one hour here per week or per month counts as dedication.

I will observe tugs that come from my spirit versus my ego, reconciling these motivations to discover who I really am.

I’m not doing this for applause (because no one really cares).

If (or when) I choose to share my work, it’s not a reflection of my so-called talent or value (again, because no one really cares).

I will mess up. (That is sort of the point.)

I will make bad art. (That is the practice.)

I will show up again tomorrow if today didn’t go as planned.

I commit to a creative life.

Norman Rockwell, Triple Self-Portrait (1960)
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