I return shopping carts. Not because I am especially good.But because if I do not, a small voice wakes up.

You are careless. You leave things for others. You are doing it wrong.

That voice is shame. It does not shout. It whispers in ordinary places.Parking lots.Unfinished paintings.Messy tables.

Art hears this voice too.

You should be further along.This should look better by now.If you were really an artist, this would feel easier.

But art is not saying that.Shame is borrowing its voice.

Art is not a report card. It is a place to process what has not been felt yet.

When my art feels heavy or stalled, it is rarely because I am doing it wrong.It is because something in me needs attention.

So sometimes I return the cart.And sometimes I just notice why I feel I have to.

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