Even the trees ask “Why?”

Maybe it’s because I’m creative. Maybe I’m just naturally curious. Maybe I choose to use my brain cells. Either way, I question things.

I sat on a park bench, noticing the questions below my feet. ImageThe trees cast their questions towards the sky. Maybe they dropped these, once they found their answers. Or, maybe they realized the answers are obscured, for the time being. Maybe they actually know the answers but threw the questions out there, just for kicks.

Cheese Doodled

They say the best way to have the upper hand with your enemy is to know them. What if that enemy only exists in your thoughts? I could write a little description of the inner critic, make up some list of their tactics, tell you how to avoid them.. I’ve decided against doing that.

I pondered this whole subject of the inner critic for a while. I thought maybe I had an entire legion of them. I thought they ran around my brain, masquerading as everyone who ever hurt me, saying all the nasty things every bully ever said to me, stopping me from doing the things I want to do and the things I need to do. I thought they made excuses for me and helped me conjure up reasons why I can’t do some things.

Psychologists, life coaches, and writers have made lots of money off of those who think the inner critic exists. I’m an artist. That means I challenge traditional thought. Today I’ve decided to challenge the idea that an inner critic actually exists. As long as I think I’ve got an inner critic challenging my creativity, I don’t have to produce art.

I can’t sit around and eat cheese doodles, waiting until this figment of my imagination, this so-called inner critic, goes away. I’ve just got to stop believing in her. Cheese doodles only serve to give us orange lips and fat on our hips.



I told you I was weird. One of my more recent pieces fits that category nicely. The title comes from something my husband said. He was talking about how some people seem to repeat certain behaviors in a desperate attempt to get attention, but end up doing what he would call a bad parody of themselves. This digital piece illustrates that concept of a bad self-parody.


I’m working on a poem to go with this one, but I haven’t finished it. The title, itself, got my thoughts swinging in a negative direction and I had to put those lines away. I’ll indulge my inner pessimist some other day.