Recently I have been struggling with something that I think is a common fight for most artists.  It has been something that has been mostly unspoken for most of my writing career, but it came to a very poignant  head a few weeks at ConversantLife’s First Friday (August) event. One of the musical  features at the event was John Torres on vocals and guitar with Konstantin Grigorious on rhythm. John has a song called Part of the Plan which I have embedded below in a video because it’s worth a listen.

As I sat there in the full art house, surrounded by people and letting his words penetrate my ears and heart, I was actively fighting to keep from breaking into a full sob. Something about his lyrics struck a chord with me. He was singing words that described a fight that I’d been feeling, yet had been unable to describe up to that point. As an artist, he felt what I felt. He sang and I cried.

And as I sat there, one of my friends caught my eye. She saw me tearing. She knew I had been affected. After the show, she told me “It would mean a lot to John if you told him how his music moved you.”

Which I thought was perfect, because I usually love walking up to people I’ve never met before, covered with snot and tears and introduce myself by saying, “Hi I’m a big baby and I cried at your show.”

A Song for Min Joon by Sacha Penn

But then she said something that caught my attention. “Come on Jenni, you’re an artist too, so you know how it is. It’s important for people to tell you how they are affected by you. Isn’t it the same with your writing? You like knowing how your expression affects people? I know it will mean a lot to him. ”

Ah, stabbed. She was totally right. From the perspective that John was a “stranger,” I didn’t like the idea of walking up to someone and blabbing my heart. But from the perspective that John was a fellow “artist,” I knew that verbalizing my appreciation for his contribution was priceless. Standing in front of people and being vulnerable is at the core of being creative, and I can recognize that this is what a musician does every time he really plays from his heart. My friend had nailed it, it is important for people to give feedback about the results of art and vulnerability amongst an audience.

Miss Elema, Borana tribe and Samburu tribe woman by Eric Lafforgue

So, I dried my snot nose, and decided to find John. I told him that I cried, and that it was hard for me to admit that I cried. And, as predicted by my friend John was warm, open, and glad to hear it. I explained to him that I’d initially hesitated to tell him because I didn’t want him to think I was baby – but I am a writer, and in a way I understand what he is going through when he stands on stage and displays his heart through his songs. I have to admit, it was nice to hear that his thoughts were similar to mine: vulnerable art is a struggle, and that sometimes there is a significant need for validation from your audience. Not necessarily in an egotistical sort of way, but it helps to know that you were at least in the ballpark.  I don’t think either of us found it comfortable to admit that we could be so fragile.

Painting by S. Viswakarma

The Heavy Dream

I think the part that has been really hard for me lately in my own writing is that  I have begun to  feel the weight of the dream. There are days when the very inside of me screams to know that the writing matters. That it isn’t just a hobby. That it’s legitimate and that I’m professional in what I do, even if it’s on a very small scale. I don’t say this with ego involved, please know that. I don’t mean that I get an emotional plug knowing that people like what I write.  Instead I mean that if the writing was simply a puff pastry of crap (”today I went to the grocery store…wow it was fun….”), I would be happy to keep the thoughts in some sort of private journal. I would simply write for myself because I love it. But, on the other hand, if what I am writing and thinking and asking does matter, even to one person, then I share it because bringing value to the world through my creativity feels like a beautiful thing.

And that notion seems to get very complicated sometimes. And it gets very heavy. I think this is an issue that that all artists go through, but there are moments where the dreams feel too heavy to carry anymore. I nearly tell God, “God this dream hurts too much. I don’t know what would be worse…letting it go or to hold on to it and fight for it. God, can you take this passion back? My hands are tired and my heart hurts.”

Bloodwall by Sy parrish

That part is a very real and hard part.  There are parts of this dream that feel like I am just chasing unicorns and pink clouds. The realistic and logical part of my head says, “This is fluff. And it’s not real. Thanks for the passion God, but you can have it back.”

So in light of those struggles, you might understand why John’s words cut to the core of me sometimes. I’ve listened to this song about 100 times. I think the lyrics that paint in my soul are these:

What you do doesn’t have to be big

Its ok if you just want to live

So pull back the covers my dear if you want to sleep in.

It’s like that present tucked under the tree,

It was always there but you just couldn’t see.

And just ’cause you want it doesn’t mean that it’s a sin…

Just take a moment  and drink it all in – don’t stop dreaming

This is the part where the magic begins – don’t stop dreaming…

Working Class Hero by Tyla’75

These lyrics have literally taken the breath out of me like a deep sorrow. I have only had that feeling a few other times in my life, and most have them have involved death or trauma. I think it hits the part of my artist heart that begs the question “Does my art really matter? Does anyone care? Am I resonating with anyone else out there? Is this significant, or am I alone in this?” And I understand that this has the potential to sound very narcissistic, but I think as an artist it hits a chord deeper than that.