Internalized Struggles - Vent Vomit
Really one should write an "artist's statement" whenever one is still working on or recently finished with a piece.
I've always found artist's statements to be a bore and something I did not enjoy doing.
That I suppose is due to stubbornness to accept that I am no exception in this massive art world.
I have this delusion that my art speaks for itself. It contains the power to evoke immediate emotion and response. An audience should be able to look at my work and understand the message I am trying to send. They should within seconds resonate with the piece and desire to express their gratitude.
How egotistical, lol.
That is not how it works.
And somewhere along the way I honestly quit giving a shit.
Don't get me wrong. I want y'all to feel something when you look at my art. But whatever you feel is what YOU feel.
Point of this blog is to share how I feel.
If you care you care, if you don't you don't.
Read if you please, ignore as much as you wish.
Not shit I can do either way.
So thus beginning of an artistic vent vomit.
-Because that's more accurate to what this is than an "artist's statement"-
With the beginning page of a new sketchbook I created a charcoal piece.
Though it has been a couple months since I've done anything with this piece or even thought in depth about it.
However, it still holds a message for myself and one I can manipulate into being a good beginning for my expressionism series that is to be composed within the pages of that sketchbook.
I called this one Internalized Struggles because I wanted the audience to look at it and see that I was expressing my inability to be coherent. This time it was about me saying something that only I would get immediately. Created by me for me to force myself to see and hear me.
Nothing makes sense in this piece besides recognizable shapes. I had no clear direction and simply threw lines and smudges down on the page.
But that's how art school and creating "art" has always been for me. I want to create art but like Van Gogh level ya know? Inspirational, ground breaking, remembered.
But few people gave a shit about him when he was alive.
I suppose I will be remembered when I'm dead but it's not exactly like I would know for sure.
All I did was throw lines, shapes, and colors down on different surfaces. The pieces were supposed to be avant-garde but in all reality they were fluff pieces I pulled out of my ass because I thought they would be things my audience would admire.
And I was wrong. And even though I knew my art was shit, I was MAD that people saw through me. That's not what I was trying to do.
And now I don't give a fuck.
I never wanted to be honest with my artwork because I wasn't honest with myself.
I think I'm godly and I'm not.
I think I'm hot shit and I'm not.
I think I'm a genius and I'm not.
It's a never ending battle in my head. I'm either good enough or not worth anything at all. I am so desperate to been seen and heard and loved.
But I don't even recognize myself in the mirror.
And I don't know how to talk about it with anyone I just know when I look at this piece I have talked about it.
It's all blurred and smudged with directional forces pulling my attention all over.
And I need to get it out.
I need to be able to process appropriately so I can focus and move past these internalized struggles.
I know what I need to do and yet I don't do anything.
And I blame laziness, being busy, or being forgetful.
But in all reality I am just scared because I don't care.
I just want it all to be over with. I just don't know what the end goal is so how I can I even know when it's all done.
To think clearly would be a blessing.
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