Or, how I learned to stop hiding and become an artist
My name is Sierra and I am a poet. It’s taken me 10 years to say that short declarative statement. I’ve been in a bit of an artistic slump recently, so I figured why not write about the idea of being an artist. There was a long period of my life, sometimes ongoing, where saying the word “artist,” or “poet,” or “writer” in relation to myself gave me such profound embarrassment. I’m not entirely sure if it’s a gender-related problem (oh, to have the confidence of a young twenty-something male writer), or if it’s an art-specific lack of confidence, or if it’s an entirely-personal fabrication. Most likely, I think it’s because we tend to view poetry as being one of two things: Either extremely stuffy and incomprehensible or the sappiest of self-indulgences. Don’t get me wrong, both are extremely valuable forms of poetry, but they can be off-putting.
I first began writing poetry when my seventh grade English teacher, Ms. Principato, asked me if I would consider entering a national poetry contest. To this day, I have no idea why she asked me. She didn’t ask anyone else in my class. At this point in my education I wasn’t particularly outgoing and I certainly wasn’t more or less intelligent than my fellow classmates, but something in my face or the set of my shoulders must have informed Ms. Principato that here is a girl who will like writing about her feelings and all the boys who ignore her. I’m kidding. I do occasionally write about things other than those two subjects, however.
Anyway, to my intense surprise, I was not only the youngest person to enter the contest, but the first poem I ever wrote was selected as one of the winners. And so, Sierra Paquette-Struger peaked at the tragically early age of 11.I’d always been an okay student. I struggled with math, but enjoyed science. I loved reading, but had horrible penmanship. I was a good athlete, but I certainly was not great. Poetry, then, was the first thing I excelled at. I don’t even know why—luck of the draw, I guess. I had a creative output that I was passionate about, and it would prove extremely bountiful over the years. Emotions are so complicated and extreme during adolescence. Due to the nonexistent frame of reference, every high is the highest and every low knocks you to an inconsolable depth.
I kept my poetry hidden for years. I have dozens of notebooks in my childhood bedroom filled with incredibly embarrassing pre-teen and teenaged angst. I never showed anyone anything. Years on, in my final year of high school, I met the two young women who remain my two best friends and some of the most important people in my life. Both are creators, one an illustrator and the other a fellow poet and fine artist. I’m not sure how it came up, but like art, I’m sure it was simultaneously forced and organic. Here were two people not only curious about, but also extremely supportive of my creative pursuits. Their confidence in their identities as artists (or at least as being people who openly create) made me incredibly envious. They were the first ones to label me as an “artist,” the first ones who showed a respect for my “craft,” and instilled a sense of pride in who I am and what I can make.
During my first year of university, I felt incredibly lonely. I felt—and I’m sure this is a common experience—so much younger than my peers, yet also so, so, so much older. Poetry helped me navigate the often paradoxical world of intense loneliness, first forays into drinking and drugs, half-hearted attempts at physical intimacy, the joys of friendship, and the newfound appreciation for my parents and sibling.
I am extremely fortunate to have found a group of kind, enthusiastic, and intelligent women with whom I can openly discuss creativity, artistic process, Bob’s Burgers, and everything in between. My circle has only expanded, diversified, and aged with me—and I am so infinitely thankful. These days, apart from paying off my student loans and contemplating more education, I hope to encourage a love of and appreciation for poetry in young people. I want to make it a much more accessible art and I want it to be viewed as a less privileged art form. Art is for everyone and it can and will save your life. I have seen firsthand the benefits the arts can have on children, teenagers, and adults. It is a fact of our lives that encourages empathy, intelligence, and betterment. Love isn’t all you need, neither is art, but they are necessary components of a good life.
Photo by Sierra Paquette-Struger.