Show me from behind the wall

Making art feels impossible, but it also feels like the only thing I want to do. I even had new paint delivered. A canvas arrived while I was in my robe still. "Ben je net wakker?" I managed an unimpressed smirk back, only because I misheard him and thought he asked me if I was naked. By the time he'd left my brain had caught up and I felt stupid. The canvas has been sitting in my studio for 2 weeks. Moved in and out between teaching, amongst online Dutch lessons, before and after workouts. I even know what I'm going to paint. Let Love In, planned since 2017. I'm also craving music. I finally picked up my guitar this week, after a year of considering it. The chords come easily to my fret hand, the strumming is rusty. I'll play If I Ever Leave This World Alive by this time next week. I've even written a little this year. Not a lot - like all of my other artistic cravings, there's a block. A weird fear of not doing it well enough. I've created art every week, several times a week, on demand for the past year, but it's not art for me. So that's really what I'm missing. Art for me. But everything I want to express feels like it will be corny, or cheesy, or over the top, or - gasp - angsty. I think that's why I'm holding it in. But my chin ups are improving.