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A few years ago, I did a project for the Museum of Modern Art in midtown Manhattan. I worked for the curator of painting and sculpture, and it was an incredible experience. MoMA had a unique program that encouraged anyone to submit a piece of art for consideration to the museum. As the preeminent institution covering modern art, it would be remiss at missing a major force that had gone undetected. The assistant curators took this responsibility seriously, though truth be told, very few submissions ever made it beyond the assistant curators. Some of the pieces showed amazing technical skills, but the discerning eyes of the curators were looking for something breathtakingly new, avant garde and pieces that would force change and generate buzz.

Along with the piece of art, many applicants included a cover letter detailing their inspiration and history with art. A small minority of these letters were the saddest words I had ever read. One in particular stuck out, and I carry a piece of it in my heart…and it motivates me to be a force for positivism and good. The letter was written by a 50-something-year-old man who had had a rough life. His tone was as if he was writing a letter to St. Peter himself justifying what he felt had been a worthless life. A series of unfortunate incidents had left him alone and destitute, and the only thing that had kept him going was his art. He closed the letter by asking MoMA to consider his work because just seeing one of his pieces hanging in a museum, even if just for an hour, would have justified his entire life – all of his struggles and pains. His work was not accepted.

I was reminded of this story this week when Paula Goodspeed parked her car near her idol, Paula Abdul, and swallowed a lethal amount of pills. Goodspeed had been a contestant on American Idol and committed suicide on Tuesday. Yes there were different circumstances…different details. Goodspeed was allegedly a stalker and may have had other issues. But what I held onto was her failed contestancy on Idol. God gave us the ability to be inquisitive and express ourselves in so many beautiful ways, but that expression brings so much pain when one has no one with whom to share it. I am not sure what is worse…not having a voice, or having one that no one listens to?

My heart goes out to Goodspeed’s family and the 50-something-year-old man looking for meaning in other’s approval. The world can be a scary place…and the pain can seem like a lot. Sometimes, it becomes too much. A friend of mine committed suicide when we were 16 years old. Although I never found out why, there were definitely issues at play, and she may have felt as if she had nowhere to turn…she had a voice but no one to listen because she was afraid.

The pain of having something to say and nowhere to say it can be unbearable. I have felt it at times with my music and my writing. But now I have the strength to know I do it for myself and accept whatever response or lack thereof comes my way. And because of that 50-year-old man and my friend and Paula Goodspeed, I try to go out of my way to encourage everyone with a voice (that is all of us) to express it as best they can. We are all artists even if our pieces never hang in museums.