I am most joyful when I am making.
I feel most in my flow, most feminine, raw, vulnerable yet powerful.
I’ve noticed there are a lot of stories around being an artist and at times I allow myself to get caught up in the drama that is not written by me.
I had a trigger moment the other day when my cousin snidely remarked “Oh, so you’re doing art now? Like for a “Li-ving””
In the moment, I was throw aback. My eyes flashed off and I tasted a sour “Fuck you” in my mouth.
Then, I took a breath and thanked whomever for inventing yoga. I do have some regrets regarding how I responded- I decided to talk about the good money I’ve been making rather than highlighting the purposeful passion I get from creating. However, I imagine I assumed that I would garner more respect from him if I highlighted the big dollar signs. I notice myself frowning as I write that last part- I don’t make because of money. The money just sort of comes because I make beautiful things.
I have yet to meet a person who feels spiteful about beautiful things.
Although, now I am remembering that Plato was not a fan of the arts. He thought they were pitiful imitations of his “perfect world” where there was a complete and perfect example of all concepts. Part of me thinks there is a ring of truth to Platos words…
There is a certain futility that comes with creating… However, that is also one of my favourite parts! I love the mess, the struggle, the challenge of skill. I love how art forces me to engage with the world with kinder, more colourful and curious eyes. I love how perfection always remains on the horizon driving me to explore further.
Endless expansion on a creativity.
Art really does fuel my soul.