I Could Never

Two of my newest paintings.

By Rita

While preparing for a small art showing in a community gallery this week, I looked at my tiny body of work and panicked as I heard my voice saying, “I can never show these, I’m not an artist.”

Suddenly I was hurled back in time sitting around a crowded kitchen table in a small Midwestern town. I'm surrounded by female relatives, near and far in bloodline, many who I only knew as characters from my father’s life story. I'm speaking with members of my own tribe who are immigrants to America, to their daughters and their granddaughters who all struggled, worked hard, and had much to show for their efforts.

I'm ready to leave for the airport when someone suddenly asked me, “Where is your luggage?” As I picked up my small, compact bag I heard gasps and sighs in unison, followed by the words, “That can’t be possible. I could never travel with one small bag. Suppose you need something?”

All this, coming from a family who came to a strange, foreign country and built themselves up through hard work and optimism. When did they start adding the never to their thought process?

On the way to the airport I started counting how many times I had heard the words, “I could never,” start or end a sentence, acting as a verbal exclamation point or period. Through the years following I listened to the young daughters of our clan say the words and I became sharply aware when they came out of my own mouth. If I heard friends, family, or co-workers say a version of the sentence I wanted to know, why couldn't they ever, exactly? What made their never so impossible?

Then this week I heard those words coming out of my mouth again. Oh, the irony.

A display of my work and cards at the art show

After nearly bullying a good friend into taking a class with artist Sondra Hersh, the most amazing art teacher ever (www.sondraart.com), my very esthetically talented friend said that she could never be an artist, she has no talent. This was based only on the fact that she had never painted before. She gave it a shot, however, and she has since produced some stunning pieces.

Somehow my simple, rational explanations of why my friend should take an art class eluded me in my time of crisis. I finally reasoned her out of doubt with, “It won’t be a Picasso, who cares. Move past the never, it's the experience of opening your heart that really matters.”

I was told long ago not to even try art, because I couldn’t draw a straight line or color inside of any. Regardless of my lack of apparent talent, I moved past my “I could never,” and put paint to canvas. Am I an artist? If I say I am, I am. What, or who, are you?

Moving past this kind of self doubt has opened my heart and reminded me that we often put limitations on ourselves. So put your never aside and stop thinking about how you can't—just go do.