I draw again. It’s hard to explain what that means to others. I drew since I was two. And it means to some that I had the talent that would continue to progress. In fact, the talent is a curse.
I can only draw when I have developed my personalities and stabilized my mental state. It’s not always easy. Same for any other arts: dance, music, photography, etc. Those are the tools to express oneself. And once the self refuses to be at ease, you can’t create anything up to par.
You feel isolated, your colors tell so. You feel depressed, your brush trokes tell so. You feel death, your art tells so. Off course not everyone can tell. But YOU can always tell. Because you breed your art.
It is a curse because you can always tell if you are okay or not with yourself.
I was so afraid of what I could create. The colors confused me. I couldn’t pick up the likables to fake what I feel. I couldn’t tell where to put them. And when I tried and finished, the work felt as shitty as myself.
During art classes, I struggled and also succeeded with my mental illness. It’s a curse and a blessing in another way. I learned to control my eyes, my hands, eventually my feelings and my expressions. It’s the internal process that only I could understand and make it work for myself.
I have to own myself in order to own my art. And in order to own myself, I have to learn from it and its emotions. Not to kill them. Not suppress them. But to make peace with them.
It’s the toughest process I’ve ever worked on since I came back home from the US: learning to make peace with myself, learning to accept that I’m not what I was, learning to embrace my dark soul.
”You are here, and you want to speak out. Then let me help you voice yourself.”
I don’t like drawing things. Things that people would define. I don’t want people to recognize any of my artistic creation as objects. I don’t want people to “read” me and “judge” me. Well, they do. And I made it harder for them to do so (or maybe easier? LOL)
To be honest I’m more curious about what people feel about what I draw than what they think it is. It’s a therapy for me and for my viewers, I supposed.
When I talk to people in the arts: dancers, photographers, musicians, etc. The internal creative process is the same. You’d notice when something is not right when your soul is unstable.
You don’t know how to feel the moment to shoot. You can’t seem to choose the color scheme that fits your true self or just your mood. Do you want the people to feel the photograph they way you did during that fleeting moment? Do you want to reveal your internal emotions at all?
You don’t know how to move your body. You can’t take control of your muscle. You don’t seem to catch up with the rhythm. You feel like the air is pressuring your heart. You want to collapse the entire stage.
Being an artist is a curse and a blessing.
You can’t lie to yourself when you practice art.
And among those ignorant people and the flattering crowd, you always get caught by someone who could feel your insecurity, your internal struggle and dangerously, they might be able to feel you.
From now on I would like to see it as a blessing. It is okay to let others feel and interpret me. It is okay if they judge. It is okay if they don’t like it. Because I am honest to myself and my poor little self deserves such fair treatment from me.
I hope you’d love whatever you create, whatever moments you capture, whatever movement you make.
You have many selves to take care of. The scientist, the entrepreneur, the psychologist, the data nerd. Those selves will feed you. Yet the mad ones, the artistic ones, the ones who always trouble your inner peace, those are the ones that will help you alive.