Narrator: An illustrator stands in a crowded New York City trade show, surrounded by a sea of sameness. Every booth seems to be peddling the same trendy patterns—whimsical owls, cheerful llamas, rustic gardening tools. She feels a wave of despair wash over her. Her own portfolio, which she had painstakingly filled with work she thought would sell, looks just like everyone else's. Back in her hotel room that night, she breaks down, realizing that in her attempt to please the market, she had lost the one thing that mattered: herself. This moment of crisis belonged to Lisa Congdon, and it became a turning point that led her to abandon trends and dive deep into her own unique fascinations. Her journey, and the lessons she learned, form the foundation of her book, Finding Your Artistic Voice, a guide for any creator who feels lost in the noise and wants to cultivate work that is not just good, but distinctly their own.

Narrator: The term "artistic voice" is often misunderstood as being synonymous with "style"—the visual look of an artist's work, like their color palette or line quality. But Congdon argues that this is a dangerously narrow definition. An artistic voice is far deeper; it is the artist's unique point of view filtered through their skills, subject matter, choice of medium, and, most importantly, consistency. It is the sum of an artist's life experiences, values, and obsessions, making their work recognizably theirs even if the style evolves.

Congdon describes this fully developed voice as a kind of superpower. It’s a well-honed artistic perspective that allows a creator to work with confidence and dexterity, even under immense pressure. She points to the legendary choreographer Twyla Tharp, who once planned a dance program where the first half was meticulously rehearsed, but the second half was left completely blank. Upon arriving at the performance venue, Tharp would walk into an empty room and, relying on decades of experience and her deeply ingrained artistic perspective, create an entirely new piece from scratch. She wasn't just relying on a "style" of movement; she was tapping into her superpower—a profound understanding of her craft that allowed for spontaneous, brilliant creation. This is the power of a true artistic voice: it’s not just what your work looks like, but what you are capable of doing with it.

Narrator: Many aspiring artists imagine the creative journey as a linear progression: you start, you get better, and you arrive at success. The reality, Congdon explains, is much more like a cycle. She breaks down the artistic path into five recurring phases: The Spark, The Ongoing Desire to Create, Risk-Taking and Experimentation, Questioning, and Creative Flow. Artists will move through these phases again and again, and understanding this cyclical nature is key to perseverance.

The story of painter and textile designer Kindah Khalidy perfectly illustrates this journey. Her "spark" came in childhood, with a love for craft supplies and the mystery of making something from nothing. This desire to create persisted even as her father pushed her toward a more practical career in nursing. Choosing art school was an act of risk-taking. There, she entered a phase of intense experimentation, creating her own major that combined painting, textiles, and fashion. But the path wasn't smooth; she faced periods of deep "questioning," even considering dropping out. Yet, by pushing through that discomfort, she found her way into a state of "creative flow," developing the vibrant, abstract style she is now known for. Recognizing that moments of doubt and questioning are not signs of failure but normal parts of the cycle can empower artists to stay the course until they find their flow again.

Narrator: A paralyzing fear for many creators is the idea that everything has already been done. In a world saturated with images, how can anyone be truly original? Congdon, citing author Austin Kleon, argues that nothing comes from nowhere. All creative work builds on what came before. The goal isn't to create in a vacuum but to become a masterful synthesizer of your influences. Originality is born from how you transform what inspires you.

Artist and curator Danielle Krysa learned this lesson the hard way. Inspired by her young son's imaginative play, she created a series of mixed-media pieces featuring children with animal heads. She felt the idea was brilliant and uniquely hers. But when she launched her popular art blog, The Jealous Curator, she was crushed to discover at least five other artists making nearly identical work. Her first instinct was to give up. However, she soon realized that this was a critical test. A true artistic voice isn't found in the first, most obvious idea. It's found by pushing past that initial concept. The experience motivated her not to quit, but to dig deeper, to experiment further, and to find a direction that was even more personal and unique. Influence is the starting point, but your voice is what you do with it next.

Narrator: An artistic voice doesn't magically appear; it is forged in the fires of consistent, dedicated work. Congdon emphasizes that "showing up" is the most critical part of the process. This means showing up for your community by engaging with other artists' work, but more importantly, showing up for yourself by establishing routines and practicing relentlessly.

This idea is powerfully captured in a concept from radio host Ira Glass, who describes "The Gap." He explains that most people get into creative work because they have good taste. They know what great work looks like. But for the first few years, the work they produce themselves is simply not that good. There is a painful gap between their ambitious vision and their current skill level. This gap is where most people quit. Glass argues that the only way to close that gap is through a sheer volume of work. You have to make a lot of bad art to get to the good art. This requires setting a schedule, sticking to it, and pushing through the frustration. It’s through this disciplined, routine practice that skills are honed, ideas are clarified, and a voice slowly but surely emerges from the effort.

Narrator: The creative process is inherently vulnerable. The fear of failure, of judgment, of not being good enough, is universal. Many artists wait for a "perfect moment" to begin—a moment when they feel ready, confident, and unafraid. Congdon argues this moment will never come. The key is to "begin anyhow" and to reframe your relationship with fear.

Artist Libby Black's story is a testament to this principle. Just two weeks before her final MFA show, a visiting artist challenged her entire plan. Gripped by terror and a strange sense of excitement, Black threw out months of work. She decided to recreate life-size versions of fifty-one shoeboxes filled with memories that her mother had saved. It was a frantic, terrifying, and exhilarating process. That show became a turning point in her career. From that experience, she learned that fear is often a compass pointing toward her most important work. It’s a signal that she is moving beyond her comfort zone and into territory where real growth and magic can happen. Embracing "the suck," as one sticker Congdon found advised, and moving forward despite fear is what separates those who dabble from those who develop a powerful, resilient artistic voice.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Finding Your Artistic Voice is that a voice is not found, but built. It is not a treasure you unearth or a destination you arrive at, but the direct result of an ongoing, active process. It is constructed piece by piece through the courage to be different, the discipline to practice, the wisdom to transform influences, and the resilience to embrace fear and failure as part of the journey.

Ultimately, the book challenges every creator to stop waiting. Stop waiting for inspiration, for permission, or for your voice to be fully formed before you begin. The only way to develop your unique artistic identity is to start making things, right now, in the midst of your uncertainty and imperfection. The real work is to show up, do the work, and trust that your voice will emerge from the act of creation itself.