“If your heart is broken, make art with the pieces.” ~ Shane Koyczan
I have never considered myself artistic. My mom was an artist. She was amazing at drawing, sewing and painting. I am not.
I have to work very hard with massive detailed instructions to make things. But I do make things. And friends have said that I am “so creative”. But I don’t feel like I am. It’s like cooking. I can follow a recipe but in no way shape or form does cooking come natural to me or is it fun for me. The key word here is “natural”. Therefore I consider myself “not good” at cooking.
It’s the same with art. I hate Pictionary because I suck at drawing. I can do paint by numbers but even then I struggle with staying in the lines. I am no artist.
I’ve always associated drawing and painting with being an artist. You know, like VanGogh, or Picasso. But one day, my therapist, Bill, said “your blog is a total work of art and each post is like a brush stroke.”
The more I thought about that the more I realized that each blank page was a canvas just yearning for a kaleidoscope of words and phrases to turn it into something beautiful. And you know what? Writing does come “natural” for me. Some posts are better than others but with each one I feel like I am creating something with the broken pieces of myself, and if something beautiful can come out of the cracked and damaged me then it’s my conclusion that that will be a true work of art.