The Dust of Everyday Life

“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”

—Pablo Picasso

Music has been a part of my life since I was a small child. At age four, I stood before my first audience—a church gathering for a children's talent show. I'm told I sang confidently, though I don't actually remember the event. Singing was always just a part of who I was, and I was always doing it, everywhere I went. I participated in any event that let me get up and sing in front of an audience, whether by myself or with others. While I loved the attention—even from the blue-haired, navy perfume–drenched old ladies at church who would kiss and hug me to death—music made me feel, and feel deeply. It was an outlet for my negative emotions and a voice for my joyful ones. High school choir got me through not only the usual teenage angst, but also the more painful and traumatic events I faced, like my dad losing his job and the financial struggles my parents went through afterward.

Music was the thing I was going to do. I dreamed of Juilliard, or of being discovered and performing. I also knew I wanted a family, so I turned more of my attention to writing music in college. College choir was another one of those amazing emotional experiences. There was music that became part of my soul—pieces that brought chills up my spine and tears to my eyes. I’ll always be grateful for those memories. I met my husband in choir as well, so I can truthfully say that choir and music have been essential to the direction my life has taken.

However, there comes a time in many of our lives when these kinds of things are left behind. From childhood through young adulthood, we’re surrounded by peers who are doing the same things as us, and it’s a wonderful and special part of life. But as we get older, life tends to drive us all in different directions. We fall out of sync with others our age as life becomes focused on survival in suburban isolation. Sometimes it’s really lonely, and we look back to the things that lifted us as children—those memories that are so precious. I still have a large shelf filled with music books that I pull out from time to time and sing from with all my heart. I still sing in church sometimes, but that’s about it.

For a while, that made me really sad. I tried to participate in community choir and theater, but eventually my responsibilities to my home and family became too much to do both. So I began spending more and more time on another love: sketching. I got bored after a while with graphite and began longing for color, so I dabbled in acrylics, watercolors, and even colored pencils. I drew dozens of pictures of my children, rejoicing in their growth. It reminded me how grateful I was for my blessings. I grew more passionate about it, turning to YouTube tutorials and library books to learn new techniques and refine my craft. It became the thing that got me through—not just the mundane tasks of running a household, but the harder times as well, like the month I spent on bedrest in the hospital, or when my husband broke his neck in a car accident. (He's okay now, for anyone who’s freaking out at that knowledge.)

The world has become almost impossible for a family to survive on one income. In the past, I had temporarily taken a retail job to get us through, but it was detrimental to both my physical and mental health. I knew I needed something creative, so I turned to art. I enrolled in art school to turn my long-time hobby into a career. As I learned more about art and design—and what it takes to continually create—it became far more than a mere distraction. I realized I could put myself into a piece of work, in a way similar to how I felt when making music. I created pieces that made me cry as I painted them and that left me feeling more whole once they were completed. I created work that resonated with other people and made them feel deeply as well. It has been an incredibly uplifting journey, and it continues to carry me as I search for employment while maintaining a household with five wonderful—but messy—children.

Art in all its forms can be a balm for the soul. Even if we are not the creator ourselves, we can listen to music, watch a movie, read a book, or explore artwork—whether in person or online—and feel a release from the things in life that burden us. Life is hard. Art is one of those rare things that makes it worth living. As Picasso said, it washes the dust from our souls—and for that, I’ll always be grateful.