My Journey As An Artist

Is Making Music Just About Making Money?

As I step into the vast and unpredictable world of the music industry—navigating through the internet and the experiences of others—I find myself oscillating between excitement and discouragement. The journey depends entirely on who you meet, who you trust, and sometimes, who you pay in the hope of being heard and seen for your art. It can feel like riding the most turbulent wave of your life.

I moved to Nashville just before my twins were born, a little over twenty years ago, fresh out of music college. Back then, the industry’s expectations were overwhelming. I used to joke with my bandmates that we should rename ourselves “Meat on Ice” because that’s exactly how I felt when music executives spoke to us. We were taught that “having the look” was just as important as having talent. We were warned that our artistic relevance had an expiration date because, as we were told, “the general public only wants to see attractive young people.”

That message tore at me. I had come to Nashville with a fire in my heart—a passion for songwriting and connecting with people through music. But I also had enough rebellion in me to sabotage myself, convinced that people-pleasing was the only way to succeed. I procrastinated, neglected practice, and partied too much. I enjoyed jamming with musicians more than competing for attention. And in that, I grieved my own creative potential.

Then I met my late husband, a flute player, and together, we found joy in blues clubs, playing old songs instead of chasing the industry’s approval. Life took me in a different direction—I became a mother to twins and, five years later, another son. I poured my heart into raising my boys, teaching music, and earning two more degrees. But through it all, the desire to write and create never left me. And now, here I am again, hearing the same old warnings about the music business—how it’s cold, corrupt, and heartless.

But this time, I’m making the decision I should have made years ago: I will create and share my music no matter what.

I know the power of songs. I’ve witnessed firsthand how my music has touched people, made them cry, and helped them through their darkest moments. That kind of impact is priceless. As a licensed counselor, I’ve heard too many heartbreaking stories of trauma and isolation. I KNOW people crave connection. I KNOW they don’t just want to see young, beautiful faces—they want something real.

Music has the power to transcend words, to heal, to break barriers of age and appearance. My life has been rich, deep, and profoundly worth sharing. And so, I will create—not for capital gain, but to inspire. To bring meaning. To remind people that art is more than an industry; it is the power of creation itself, flowing through us when we embrace the gifts we’ve been given.

Finding Community in Bluegrass Music

My journey as a musician and artist-my longing for connection, struggles with self-doubt, and the rediscovery of my passion.

I first heard live country blues deep in the woods of New York, where I lived with my boyfriend at the time—before I became a Christian. He was my photography instructor and the son of the late James Agee. We stayed in his father’s old, crumbling farmhouse, a place where artists wandered in and out as they pleased—a constant source of tension.

What mesmerized me most was the way these musicians connected. They would sit together and play, hardly speaking a word, yet communicating profoundly through their instruments. Though their lives, struggles, and beliefs were vastly different, when they played, it was as if they had known each other for a thousand years. I longed to be part of that unspoken bond but didn’t know how to step into it.

So, I started where I could. I picked up his guitar, sat on rusted chairs on the rotting porch, and practiced the chords he taught me. I learned the songs they played, and through them, I found a doorway into my own heart. I immersed myself in the sounds of Mississippi John Hurt, Ma Rainey, Bessie Smith, and Taj Mahal. But as I grew into the music, the space between us grew as well—until, eventually, we drifted apart.

Still, I was drawn to creating music, though I fell into the trap of believing that I was only an artist if I was famous. I became disconnected from the sense of community and connection that first captivated me. I judged myself by how others responded to my music, letting self-doubt take root. There were moments—rare and fleeting—when playing with my blues band allowed me to tap into that sacred space of deep musical conversation. But instead of nurturing my craft, I sought validation elsewhere. I practiced less, partied more, and convinced myself that talent should come effortlessly.

Yet, the desire to create never left me. It nagged at me like a yipping dog, a dripping faucet carving a wound in my heart. Life took me on twists and turns—raising children, teaching music, a counseling career, losses, celebrations—but through it all, the longing remained. I yearned to write, to sing, to play, to experience that transcendent bond with other musicians once more.

One day, I decided to stop ignoring my heart. I would write songs—if only to silence that insistent voice within. And as often happens when we take a leap of faith, I was met with a sign of encouragement. While visiting my mom in Virginia, we attended a bluegrass concert. Despite the cold, windy, and rainy day, people gathered beneath an outdoor pavilion, eating clams, dancing, and singing along. What struck me most was the musicians themselves—unpretentious, clad in worn-out jeans and flip-flops, playing not to impress but to connect. They were incredibly skilled, yet their joy was rooted in the shared experience of music.

In that moment, I saw the truth I had always believed—music is a gift of connection. If these musicians could embrace their artistry without the need for approval, so could I. Soon after, my dad called out of the blue and encouraged me to attend Donna Ulisse’s writer’s camp. There, I found a community of bluegrass songwriters who, like me, longed to express their truths through music. That experience reignited my passion and reminded me why I started in the first place.

Now, I walk this path again—not chasing fame, but embracing the creative spaces where truth and connection are found. I am, and have always been, an artist.

🎵 The Call I Couldn’t Ignore

Why I Create Music Anyway

I didn’t choose music. It chose me.
I’ve prayed for the desire to quiet down—to stop feeling the ache to sing, to write, to bring sounds into the world that live only in my heart. But it never goes away. I’ve tried to ignore it, to silence the melodies that show up uninvited and the words that write themselves in my mind.
But I’ve finally surrendered to the truth:
This is not a hobby.
This is a calling.
I’ve spent years wrestling with comparison, perfectionism, cynicism, and fear. I’ve let doubt and insecurity tell me I’m too old, too behind, not polished enough, not whatever enough to put my music into the world. But something deeper keeps rising.
And I know now—it’s purpose.
When I’m not creating, I feel disconnected from myself. But when I sing, when I write, when I let the music flow, I feel more whole—more like the version of me God had in mind when He formed me.
Like a river that winds through the unknown, I may not have a map. But I do have a current that keeps pushing me forward.
This calling isn’t about fame or numbers. It’s about truth. Healing. Obedience. Resonance.
It’s about letting what’s inside of me finally breathe.

So if you’ve ever felt that creative fire in your soul—the one that won’t leave you alone—I hope you stop waiting for the perfect time. It may never feel perfect. But it will always be right. Because when you answer your calling, you unlock something that’s already been waiting for you.
Let your heart sing.
The world needs what only you carry.

The Power of Creativity 

“Life’s most significant turnings arise not so much from conscious awareness of obvious destinies as from unconscious streams of necessity to which we are irrepressibly drawn. Painting, like poetry, song, or dance, is vocation—a “calling forth,” a “summoning’—and in that sense a “birthing’ of something deep from within, tied to a transcending future with primal roots in a grounding past.” Bone Dead, and Rising: Vincent van Gogh and the Self before God.

I was inspired by this quote after reading it on a new blog called “Life Turnings: Spirituality and the Healing Arts.” This is a subject that is very close to my heart. I have credentials in Art and Music Therapy, but I know there is a much deeper and vaster spiritual aspect to creativity that cannot be taught in traditional music and art therapy degree programs. I believe the Holy Spirit can lead us to great discoveries and treasures through our creative talents and desires. I found music and art therapy college courses to be dry, flat, and clinical. I encourage people to experiment in using their creativity in finding the rich places within themselves, which can lead to healing, self-revelation, and ultimately the discovery of one’s purpose.

Art and music can communicate the unspeakable. One can look at a painting of Van Gogh’s Starry Night and be completely taken up into the “starry sky” of his creation. There is a depth that was conveyed through the medium of paint that is transferred from the artist’s heart to the one who is viewing their creation. This happens with music, dance, photography, ceramics, sculpture, and anything creative. Both the creator/artist and the receiver are transformed and touched in ways that sometimes cannot be put into words.

The Bible states, “As each of you has received a gift (a particular spiritual talent, a gracious divine endowment), employ it for one another as [befits] good trustees of God’s many-sided grace [faithful stewards of the extremely diverse powers and gifts granted to Christians by unmerited favor] (I peter 4:10).”

God’s nature is creativity. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth (Genesis 1, NIV).” He created us after His likeness. “So God created mankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them (Genesis 1:27, NIV).” If we are like God, then we naturally will want to create and find great satisfaction in the process of creating. This process of creating is powerful, healing, transforming, and full of excitement and wonder. I find that when I create something, whether it is writing a song, painting a picture, or writing this blog, I am more deeply connected to God and who God created me to be. More ideas flow, my self-esteem soars, my energy increases, and all my small worries and concerns disappear. I sense a culmination of all that God is doing in my life, pieces of knowledge, inspiration, wisdom, experience, coming together like a beautiful sunset as I write, create, compose, sing, or play an instrument.

I encourage all who have any desire within their hearts to act on some creative idea- to begin. Do not wait another moment. Once the creative process begins, a divine order is put into place, and all other details begin to line up. Hearts can heal, possibilities can be explored, creative gifts can be made and used to mend relationships, and lives will be transformed. I believe God is waiting for us to stir up those gifts He has put inside of us, and He will use them to increase and bless our lives and the lives of others. He gains pleasure when we take what He has given us and use it to inspire and bless others. Just like Van Gogh’s painting, Starry Night will continue to stir creativity and wonder, deep stirrings of spiritual depth on the inside of us and all who stumble upon it for many years to come, we can paint, compose, creative and express dreams and visions that can touch and heal hearts in unsearchable and mysterious ways.

“Rain down, you heavens, from above, And let the skies pour down righteousness; Let the earth open, let them bring forth salvation, And let righteousness spring up together. I, the Lord, have created it (Isaiah 45:8).”

 

 

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