My Voice

There was something inexplicably magical and esoteric that had led me to the field of visual arts, or so my college essay would like to say. I was supposed to express these worlds inside of me through this beautiful medium. I sounded quite confident saying that my voice would echo through my works, make the audience feel something and mesmerize them. But an year and a half through art college, I’m not so sure anymore. My current self feels kind of burdened by the responsibility of expressing the voice of my past self through art. Do I even have something substantial to say anymore? Maybe its all the sleepless nights weighing me down, making me see my own abilities through this negative filter.

But honestly (and I say this with a pang of guilt), simply making something conventionally pretty that can bring a smile or two on someone’s face seems kind of enough at the moment. I don't really have a voice of my own right now. Did I ever?