Why would a person become an artist if self-expression doesn’t come easily? Is the driving motivation the struggle to communicate a deep, almost inexpressible yearning? Ease of expression is not my talent. With age, I’ve learned to see and accept what my strengths and weaknesses are as an artist. I recognize when I’m channeling the Giacometti-like tendencies, being tormented by a sense of failure, being unable to perceive the beauty before me. But, somehow I always find enough love in the practice of creation and I can recognize the magic of lines intersecting in just the right way, so that shadows falling across a face suddenly form a narrative. The narrative may be darkening thoughts, puffing up like a storm cloud, but in the act of creation, the cloud exists in the vast, openness of expression, with room to breathe and the space to become something else, no longer trapped inside a single person’s head…like a cloud bursting out of the darkness, it floats to find another soul.