The problem with being a creative is that you can fetishize your own work. You place it on pedestals in dark corners….your own secret sanctuary, waiting for it to perfect itself….never wanting to share until it’s well, perfect…which it will never be. Therefore, leaving it to rot as you continue to imagine its quality, its luster….believing it’s all coming to fruition when instead, you’ve virtually toyed within the decay of your own unreality.
I struggle with this. You may know me through my posts and comments on social media…or maybe not. You may have seen a glimpse of my aura, but wondered, ‘meh, what was that?’…moving past similar to that swiping left or right that people do to avoid humanity. But yes, I struggle with the thoughts and dreams that I hold so dear. Who doesn’t? Holding on to one string of thought while spinning another, not sure the end or the beginning but simply - floating - in resin. Still, stagnant, unable to breathe life into your craft…suffocating on perfectionism and imposter syndrome. Dreaming of having an impact in the world but in reality sleeping on that dream. Fragmented pieces placed together insufficiently because instead of following the heart, the rules of society are allowed to deter, sway, mislead……in the end, take claim.
But not with me.
No…
Thankfully, I’m able to fight back the doubt and pain and recognize that there’s still canvas to paint…art to be made.
There is space for you. Take it. Revel in it. Be your authentic self in it.