Beyond the Canvas: Finding my authentic voice
I’ve always prided myself on living an intentional life. In my professional world and my personal commitments, I am methodical, grounded, and disciplined. Naturally, one would think this same discipline would make creative expression easy, that I would be overflowing with ideas and a stack of completed art.
But that is not the case and much more frustrating.
Lately, finding my authentic artistic voice has felt less like a flow state and more like a standstill. I stand in my studio, surrounded by relics I’ve gathered like sand-smoothed shells and sun-bleached driftwood while Hilton Head foliage grows outside my window. The inspiration is physically touching me, yet I feel like a stranger to my own canvas. Instead of a natural current, every stroke feels forced. I’ve caught myself wondering: What kind of artist am I when I have all the elements, but can no longer translate my heart to the canvas?
When I first began painting, it was a meditative escape from the busyness of the world and the responsibility of being a healthcare provider. But as the transition from meditation to business took hold, something shifted. Loose, carefree painting was replaced by the invisible pressure of shows, sales, and the expectations of an audience.
I’ve always believed that our challenges don’t define us, but how we navigate them does. We all have the intrusions of life, our own personal struggles and the sheer busyness of a world that never seems to stop. For a long time, I was able to keep those things in their place, allowing my studio to remain a sanctuary.
But lately, I have not protected this space.
I’ve allowed the pressures of competition and the creep of self-doubt to settle in. What was once born of therapy and meditation began to feel stiff and performative. Instead of seeing a world of possibility on a blank canvas, I saw a list of shoulds. I realized I was no longer painting to express myself; I was painting to satisfy a ghost-audience of my own making.
Living on Hilton Head Island, I am surrounded by a landscape that doesn't try to be anything other than what it is. The palms don't compare themselves to the oaks; the ocean doesn't apologize for its tide. There is a profound gratitude I feel for this place, and I’ve realized that my voice isn't something I have to invent.
When I focus on the sheer gratitude of being able to witness this beauty, the negative self-talk starts to lose its power. The volume of the world turns down, and the rhythm of painting takes over.
Finding my authentic voice is a journey, not a destination. It’s about stripping away the shoulds and returning to the whys. I am a self-taught artist because I needed a way to heal, to meditate, and to breathe.
From now on, I am giving myself permission to be loose again. I am reclaiming my studio as a sanctuary where my heart and soul can speak without being interrupted by my inner critic. Coastal Bay Art was born out of love for this landscape and a need for inner peace, and that is exactly where I intend to keep it.
