The Artist Within

I've been writing about my journey into the world of independent music all those years ago. But there's another parelell story here as well. I have spent the majority of my life now helping musicians find a place for their music, their self expression. But when I started this whole path 25 years ago, I too was an artist, and a writer, and I've never honored that. I was always very creative as a child, doing everything from writing stories and poems to drawing and painting. As I got older, I learned the art of metal and wood working, pottery and stained glass. I also was a cook, creating wonderful new dishes out of thin air. Not to mention playing piano, singing, and writing songs. And yet, somehow, as I got further into the world of independent and punk music, those talents were looked down on as "too hippy". I'd already started amending what I was wearing and how I wore my hair. I was super crafty, and creative, but that didn't fit into the mold that most punk and alternative musicians and fans lived in either. I was ridiculed, and teased, and slowly, I stopped doing the creative things I loved, that allowed me to express my own uniqueness. I had adopted the outward physical trappings of punk rock, and now I was editing my own internal world, and my own self expression, allowing myself to be colored and altered by others opinions. The more I helped others embrace their creativity, the less I expressed mine. Its amazing how much an impact subtle glances can make. You know when someone is looking down their nose at you, judging you. Maybe I'm more sensitive than others, but I could feel the disapproval wafting off of the people I was choosing to hang around with. I still remember one Gavin convention (a huge convention for radio professionals), my first time in San Francisco. It was 1987, and I was music director of KBVR by this time. I decided to wear a long flowey skirt and some homemade dangly earrings to a "meet and greet" It was comfortable, and pretty, but certainly not punk. Wow, the looks I got, it was humiliating. People just stared, with undisguised disdane on their faces. We were there to meet some jerk-off band called Cock Pit that was being promoted by some major label. It was right when Guns and Roses were breaking , and this band aspired to the same acclaim. The sneers on those boys faces will always stay with me. I didn't look like someone they wanted to impress, and I knew it. That was the last time I allowed my crafty hippie side to show. I slowly stopped making jewelry, and doing stained glass, and I put my painting supplies into storage. Years later, when I got married, my husband was openly critical of my attempts to paint and write songs. And after we split up, and I started the label, my business parter too was aggressively critical of my views and opinions on artwork. I still remember him saying to me "you're no artist, leave the art to me". And now, all these years later as I dig through boxes, trying to find myself, my passion, my inspiration, I'm finding old drawings I did, painting supplies, boxes of art supplies.... and I've started allowing myself to play again. I have the most amazing supportive boyfriend now, and for the first time in my life, I have someone encouraging my childish attempts to create something for myself. He's so supportive and encouraging of my results, that i've gotten braver and have started to explore more.  It feels awkward but so familiar somehow. Like my hands have always known how to do these things, but as I watch myself, its hard for me to believe that I've just painted what I painted. I sit back and marvel, "I did that!" and for the first time in my life, I am allowing myself to be proud. I haven't had the courage yet to start writing songs again. I've spent so much time supporting others' musical endeavors, I haven't got the courage yet to try for myself. But its coming. My piano looks at me every day, as if to say "I'm here when you're ready". This journey of trying to find myself again is revealing unexpected gifts and I feel grateful and blessed that it wasn't too late for me.