There are many things I would like to write about. I have a dozen unfinished posts on my computer but lately its felt too much of a task to sit down and to ‘really’ write. So I’ve been taking a break from writing altogether – not just blogging. Somewhere along the way I’ve started thinking I can’t express an opinion (on the blog, that is) that isn’t thoroughly researched and looked at from all possible angles, well-written and well-edited. Sounds familiar? Welcome to the perfectionist club.
Various people keep telling me I need to focus on just one thing. Focus, specialise, narrow down! In fact, the whole society is telling me to focus, specialise, narrow down and – above all – keep moving forward in a straight line. Produce. Results. Get in the damn box!
Well, I don’t like the box. I believe the world needs mediators; people who can bridge the gaps between boxes. But I should focus: I need to finish my silly thesis and graduate and go to work and earn money… But wait! I don’t want to work for money. I want to work for something bigger: I want to work on something that inspires and motivates and challenges me; something that makes me grow as a person and expands my skills and knowledge and horizons. I want to make a difference, I want to feel what I do is important and believe that someone somewhere is a little better off because of the work I have done.
Why, oh why oh why did I decide I want to work in the “art” field?
I think, among telemarketers and radio personalities, people working in various fields of media will be among the first people to starve to death when the world falls into chaos and civilisation as we know it breaks apart. We’re useless. And worse yet, artists! Painters and sculptors and, gods forbid, CGI artists are a narcissist bunch of selfish people who think they can earn the right to exist by making pretty pictures. Or not so pretty, since ‘art’ is hard to define.
Am I battling an existential crisis? Absolutely. Am I constantly second-guessing myself? Hell yes. Am I painting pictures of anguish and uselessness and future devoid of future? Guilty as charged.
I wish I hadn’t been so certain of what I want to do when I grow up,while I was still growing up instead of spreading out. Why didn’t I decide to study to be a doctor or a scientist or a researcher or even a teacher? As I’m writing this, I’m starting to think that to be an artist – a good artist – one also needs to be self ascertain and more than a little narcissist. Being an artist requires insane amounts of raw belief! Personally, because of the recent exhibition cost money and paid nothing back brought me to a financial dump, which forced me to spend the rest of the month a mum’s so I can eat, the lack of affirmation is instilling serious doubts to my right of claim to the title of an artist. TL;DR: no one wants my art, therefore am broke, ergo my art sucks.
Well, this was depressing. Sorry.