I’ve had a couple of visitors in the last few days and they’ve seen the transformation of my blank canvas. Art, like writing, makes me feel vulnerable, like standing on the front lawn in my underwear.

I don’t expect, or want, people to pat me on the back or shower me with compliments. That would be awkward. But something in me looks for validation of some kind. I’m not sure what.

Without realizing it, I brace myself for the response. I find myself preparing for the let down — theirs, mine, maybe both.

“I know you don’t like this type of painting,” I say before showing it to my in-laws. They would have nothing but encouraging things to say because that’s just the kind of people they are. But just knowing they prefer traditional painting, I feel like I need to explain myself.

“It’s not your kind of painting,” I say to my good friend, Magda, who paints traditional landscapes. Magda and I understand each other, but even with her I feel a need to explain.

It’s not logical, and I’m determined to push back by posting my works in progress for the world to see.

What makes you feel vulnerable? What do you do to overcome your fear?

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