The final day of Kids Week at MoMA is when I realized it. We were in to check out some of the new exhibits they had for the kids. Most of the rooms were as they usually are, and others had turned into makeshift creation stations and interactive art. It’s the middle of winter break in New York, and every parent, nanny, aunt, and uncle had a child they were trying to entertain for the week. There was a lot of joy in the cracks—for both adults and children. Yet still, so much chaos.
At some point, we all got separated in the crowd—I ended up strolling with our dear friend who was in town for a bit, J, while my little one stayed with my husband. I was showing J the art that inspired some of my tattoos, and he shared his love for paintings and the research he’d recently done on René Magritte. He asked me what mediums I played with, and that’s when I noticed it. I caught myself responding with a conversation—more like a monologue, honestly—I had had many times before:
“I had gotten into their Masters’ Program for Interdisciplinary Art. I loved this one project we had to do where we had to make a chair out of cardboard and sit in it during critique without it breaking—TWO HOURS! What’s funny is: I remember my admissions counselor telling me, ‘You’re good. You have a great eye, but you’re good without having to try, and that might make your time here tough.’”
I had quoted my admissions counselor before—his name started with a J, but I honestly can’t remember if it’s Jason or Justin or Jacob—but this time, it all felt different rolling off my tongue. Maybe it was my awareness of the actions taking place, or maybe it was J’s reaction:
“You’re good without having to try, and that’s a problem?!!!? Why wouldn’t they cherish that?” J shook his head. “That’s your superpower. The best artists just create—they’re not worried about getting it right.”
I felt him frustrated for my 20-year-old self. The same frustration I had been feeling inside for over a decade. Not only was it matched, but it was deeply understood by an artist I respect and admire. I thanked J for his words, his understanding, and his kindness in speaking up for younger me… even if it was just to me.
On that fourth floor of MoMA, it hit me. Words that Justin/Jacob/Jason tossed off in passing—words he likely forgot the moment they left his mouth—had been cemented into my being. I had spent over a decade carrying them, bending myself around them. Why? Why did I need to prove that I was trying? That I wasn’t just lucky? That I belonged?
I thought it was fuel. But it was crippling me. It had already crippled me. It had wounded the artist in me—the one who wanted to try just for the fuck of it. The one who was down to fuck up. The one who trusted the vision, trusted that it would be understood. Instead, I hit override on my instincts—the same instincts that got me into the program in the first place. I became someone obsessed with proving that my work wasn’t just luck, that it was real. That I was real.
I spent the next decade taking classes, doing research, accumulating certifications, and so on. Essentially, a decade of trying to prove I was more than just a good eye—not realizing the value I had in being someone with a naturally and effortlessly good eye.
I paused writing this to let J know how our conversation impacted me.
I’m in the undoing process—the tending to of my younger self, realizing all of the moments I doubt what I put out due to fear of being called out, not seen as valuable as those who started training the day they were born, and so on. I’m taking pauses, breaths, and breaks when I notice myself holding back or when I second-guess myself because of how someone else may or may not receive the vision. I’m regulating my nervous system each step of the way, and while it can get tricky, it’s getting done.
Every action I take now is a step toward healing that 20-year-old mamita who got into her dream program but left because she didn’t feel good enough. I know she’d look at me now, see all I’ve built, and just smile. And that—that matters more than anything what’s-his-face ever said.
Thanks for reading <3