The Gallery Within You

Deciding which paintings to show, realizing we all make this choice every day.

I am so grateful, at this point in my life, to be able to paint and to even be part of some art shows, ever since I joined an art association. An upcoming art show that we have scheduled made me think about how we all exhibit our paintings, parts of ourselves, to the world every day. And how we choose what we want to have seen. 

Do I have voices within that compare my work to these other artists, artists who have education, experience, and more time having painted compared to me, a relative beginner? Indeed I do. Lots of voices. 

I still show up. And still dare to hang my paintings alongside theirs. If not now, when? I am 70. Time is growing shorter. It’s time to be who I am. And that doesn’t have to be perfect. What a relief to finally begin to feel the truth of that deep inside me.

 I have a part of me that talks back to those negative, cautious voices now. Calms them. And keeps on showing up.

So, I need to submit three of my art pieces for this show. I need to choose. 

I have one piece that I am extremely excited to submit. It’s a three dimensional piece. My first piece like this ever. It’s an elephant that I painted onto a palm frond. A palm frond that I found while walking up to the elephant barn on my way to my volunteer shift at the local zoo. It felt like a message, as the frond looked exactly like an elephant. At least it did to me. Volunteering with the elephants for the past 10 years, I tend to see elephant shapes in everything, but this one’s shape was amazing. 

Now I must choose two other pieces to submit for this show. And it is interesting to notice what can be involved in this process. How does one make that choice? How do you choose which part of you to expose any one day or at any particular function? 

Aging brings a lot of experience with it. More parts of ourselves that we come to know. How do we choose which part to show when, where, and to whom? 

What does each painting say about me, I wonder? Will people like them?

 What part of me do I let out for others to see? What do I keep for only certain friends? What do I keep for myself? And all of those are legitimate choices. 

If I ask others about the paintings, everyone will have a different opinion. Art is such an individual thing. 

Perhaps, also, others may respond to different parts of us based on who they are and what they may need from us or feel at any given moment. Relationships are such an individual thing too. 

I realize that we tell on ourselves in many ways. I tell who I am by how I walk, whether I make eye contact, who I reach out to, whether I say hello to others, and in so many other ways. We think we are not seen, but we are.

And yet, there are parts of ourselves that we are perhaps more careful with. I think about the parts of me that I am less afraid to show, the parts that I may feel better about, for whatever reason. But there is more to me. I have more paintings in my inner gallery. 

 I still have the young girl within, the one who can giggle and who delights in life. I may choose who to show her to, in case she might not be treated as I would wish her to be.

I have the sexual being still within. As an elder, I am careful who to show her to, as not all reactions are positive or accepting. I know that this part of me is still very much alive, but at times those younger than I may be shocked, even somewhat disgusted, or feel the need to make this part of me less somehow or even cute. I assure you; my feelings are not cute. If anything, they are deepened and enriched by time and experience, by love felt, pain and loss felt, passion sometimes awakened that reminds me of all that is still very much within me.

I have the angry part. The righteous rage. And this, too, can be discounted as cute or cranky. Oh, when I am angry, it’s way beyond cranky. I show her when and where she will be heard, or when I am ready to fight to have her heard. It takes energy. I choose my battles more carefully these days. Time is precious. As a friend of mine says, “Pick which hill to die on.”

I have the elder within, who is now more visible to the world. Not the old lady, mind you, but the elder keeper of wisdom. I am clear about what labels I will accept and about those that do not fit. 

I have the woman who takes care of her house, hires people to help, has been independent for years. Still competent, even if getting tired of managing it all sometimes. I will not allow her to be discounted. 

I have the fearful part. What will aging bring? Will I keep my senses about me? What will my health be? I am careful about who I talk to about this as well, in case they see that as all there is to me. I need to be able to talk about my fears without being seen and categorized as being only those fears. There is more to me than that. 

These are some of the paintings in my gallery within. 

And when I decide to show them, they will be hanging out there for all to see. Some people will stop to look more deeply at particular pieces. Some will walk by with barely a glance. So, before I put them out there, I need to be ready to stand in my own strength. 

Whatever others’ reaction, it is my painting on the wall. And that painting has a right to be there. 

I have a right to be here. 

 It is me in front of them, in my paintings, in my voice both written and verbal, and in my body. 

Here I am. My own precious, unique work of art.

As are we all.