Portrait of an Artist

I am trying to reconstruct this post from one I had written elsewhere, copied and, for some godforsaken reason, lost in the ether.

Just yesterday it struck me, for the first time, how similar writing is to acting. Both are soul-bearing, potentially soul-crushing, vocations. Each exposes one's innermost workings and vulnerabilities, requires one to lay one's heart bare before others.  Artists, be they writers, actors or practitioners of the fine arts, are among the most courageous, vulnerable, brilliant, damaged, beautiful souls I have ever encountered. (Though writing has, thus far, only been my avocation, it is my most sincere wish to parlay this "talent" into a paid profession.) Like actors, we writers utilize a myriad of outward "voices" yet, in spite of this, cannot help revealing our truest selves through our work. It is our blessing, our curse, our gift and our burden to reach levels of rawness and realness, albeit "masked", that few others ever visit let alone frequent. We dwell in ourselves, which some may perceive as narcissistic. I prefer to look upon it as brave.

In closing, I applaud each of us who chooses to not only listen to but expose our innermost voice through creativity and art. It is truly an exercise in courage and, against all odds, a leap of faith.