It’s a bit surreal to be blogging on the regular now. I’ve always thought it would be an interesting project to take on, but any number of excuses have stopped me from getting started on it before now. I’ve been busy working, busy with classes, busy making art, busy seeing friends, busy partying like it’s 1999 all over again, I had no internet access, no computer, no time… The real reason under all of that is lack of initiative, and a high level of uncertainty. Who is my audience? What makes me so interesting that anyone would want to read my blog? What even should I blog about? Excuse the phrasing, but I didn’t have my shit together.
When I look back at the last three years or so, I am a different person. Not different really, but I was such a child. Always sticking my foot in my mouth (I don’t promise that I’ve outgrown that just yet), I was blind and aimless. I had no goals, no dreams beyond a longing for independence.
I try to look back often enough, so I can see how I’ve grown and improved, to ensure I keep growing and keep improving. It was a rocky path, it still is. But I stuck by the things I love, most of all my artistic outlets. I owe much of my personal evolution to it. There’s this idea among non-creating people, I hear it often when they talk about art. There’s the myth that art is all pencils to paper, brush to canvas. Like Genesis, the art just rushes forth, in all it’s complete detail, out of the void. Would that it were so simple!
Art comes from love, pain, passion and fire. It comes from solitude and collaboration, from contemplation and from impulse. It’s a refuge within myself, where I go to celebrate my humanity. I think the thing I love most about it is that a piece of art is more than the sum of it’s elements. It’s never just a pencil, just paper, just a brush, a canvas, pastel, more than clay, more than glass, more than oil or acrylic. Art means something, even when it means nothing at all.