A funny thing happens to me when I’m moody. I write poetry. Gobs of it. It doesn’t really matter what kind of mood makes up “moody” as long as it’s intense. Because I’m human, primal emotions are the ones I feel most strongly. Anger, grief, sex… just some of the primitive triggers on my poetry cannon.

As I add to my blog, people who know me keep asking me if I’m ok. My poetry, they say, worries them. I take this as a compliment. Not because I’m trying to freak anyone out but because it demonstrates that my work is affecting my readers. I reassure them that I’m absolutely fine then turn my attention to the underlying issue.

As artists, we channel inspiration through ourselves and into our chosen medium. We see the world and what we need to add to it through a vision that is uniquely ours. When it’s good, our art is the collaboration of both our inspiration and our perspective. Inevitably, in the process, pieces of our hearts and minds are transferred to our craft, revealing ideas, images, perspectives, and emotions that arise from within us, making us visible to some extent.

The implications of this, of course, is that once you start putting your work out into the world, anyone who views it is offered a peek inside your life, or at the very least inside your crazy, mixed up, frequently ridiculous, though quite creative brain. The inevitable revelations that show through in our work leave us asking an important question: How much of ourselves should we reveal?

For me personally, I’ve decided on all of it.

Does that seem over the top? Definitely, and good for it because the truth of that matter is that I am in no way responsible or even concerned with how the world receives my work. It isn’t my job to anticipate the responses of any number of people who might visit it. My job is to tell the story, to put the work out there, to finger paint the canvas of life with colors both inspired and inspiring. If I start filtering my work based on what might offend or what someone might use to design an under-informed judgment about who I am as a human being, well, I should close up shop right now.

As artists we are drawn to passion and prone to provocation. The things that most find disturbing are often our greatest sources of inspiration. We lurk in the alleyways of the human experience, looking for a broken piece of reality discarded or ignored by others so that we can fit into something bigger than ourselves, something we can sink our teeth and hearts into, something that moves us… and in turn, might move another. We cannot afford to be timid or shy, to offer up only what we think will be well received. We can only speak from our hearts and paint the world as we see it, and we should never look to change our eyes.

So, come forth, poets and painters. Come forward, sculptors and songwriters. Come up, artists of all kinds. Come into the lightness of creating without a filter, without a care for how the world perceives you. Stand in your place, and let them look. Let them talk. Let them grimace, if they must. I am certain it is infinitely better to explain or defend your work than have it go unnoticed.