There’s a huge problem with being an artist, or aspiring to be one and trying to get the best out of your creative self – happiness gets in the way. And that I feel is contradictory with the entire point of being a healthy, stable human. As a human, all we strive for is happiness, some find it in the journey and other at the end of the road with the big prize. Nevermind the happiness definition, but the human nature is to try to get out of the depression pit they throw themselves into. But the artist, that weird creature, grows only in that dark pit. With the dissatisfactions and the heart-breaks, does the pen run smoother, hands mold better, brushes stroke gracefully. And artists have a short life span.
But technically shouldn’t talent be like a superpower, working everytime it is summoned? No matter whether you are happy or sad, the quality never suffers. But then the things don’t work that way. I wish it did, I wish for simple things. But the inevitable truth is if I want to satisfy my creative self I need to carry all my insecurities, fears, all the memories of falling down and the hopelessness, that feeling of void, worthlessness and engrave all the reasons behind all negativity and condense it and wear it around my neck. But the difficult part isn’t that, the difficult part is to switch in between the artist and the human. The difficulty is in letting destroy the wall we keep up to guard ourselves against these very emotions. To travel through that condensed time capsule and come out of it and live my normal life, and not be affected with the travel between emotions. To live a life where the artist in me doesn’t suffer because of the human side and the human side doesn’t get suicidal because of the whims of the artist, am I really up for it?
Am I strong enough to actually conceive that I can do this, forget that, do I have it in me? Do I have the talent to take up this challenge? Infact, even forget that, the real question is: am I even an artist in the first place? I like the luxuries of life too much to let it go. I crave for other’s attention, I care, care very deeply of what people think of me, of what I do to speak my mind. Is this all just a ruse to pacify myself, to have something to play with and throw away when I am done?
I hope I am. I hope I won’t be afraid to not only feel the feelings within me, but also the feelings of the words I write.
Photograph courtesy : Kyle Thompson