la voix

Do you hear me
Do you care
Tell me, what are words for . . .
~ "Words" by Missing Persons (1982)

Self-expression isn't taught. It's discovered.

When I was in school the more notable outlets were caught up in electives. They were the seemingly less important classes that would quickly separate the inately creative from the paint-by-numbers crowd, who were simply trying to please.

I always tried to bridge a connection between these sort of courses and my mainstream straight laced venues, like English and History, by bringing in a sense of adventure and daring to my work. Rarely was it a success. Most of the time the bent of excitement and pizzazz I attempted to add failed miserably, since it diverted so harshly from the narrow description of the assignment and therefore couldn't be calculated off the standard rubric.

I didn't realize it at the time, but inch by inch I was developing my voice. It's the one thing that can separate and define us as human beings, and one of the most difficult things to realize, harness, and nurture. This is so much the case that it has continued to boggle me a time or two through recent years. Though I see it springing forth primarily in its arena, it's not solely a comrad of artistic pursuits. It rears its dusty head everytime we make a decision, every chance dilemma strikes. What would we do, it asks.

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