So, I guess its true.
I’m never going to live to experience or perceive all the amazing-ness and the beautiful magical creations in this world. Maybe I’ll live to be 74 years old and yet surely I will have missed something grand. There’s too much content here, too many people and too many ideas, wonderful ideas, bad ideas, heart-aching art and gut wrenching stories and it’ll never be enough, time, it never is. The thing about creation is that there is so much of it out there that even though I enjoy most of it, every one of them adds up, at the end of the day, to the pressure that sits within me to make something too, to create. I feel spoiled.
Ancient art and literature was mainly inspired by stories and people and nature and experiences, there was no “guide”, no “history” of art, no “experiences”. You created with what you had and sometimes it sat well with humanity and continued down in the same form for generations. But today, we consume so much art, so many stories and feelings and ideas and depictions of life by other people, I feel guilty. I have so much of it, I’m sick, because it pains me to know that these wonderful creations are digested by me and I for my part can put nothing productive or as impressive as that art.
I cannot drink up the works of these contemporary geniuses and expect to cry them because I cry myself.
Because art is subjective, I don’t know where I’m going with this but I mean to say that once i consume it what comes out might not necessarily be beautiful, because it’s just me, that’s what you get. It comes 90% diluted from my being or enriched depending on how you see it.
What I’m trying to get at here is that, I am afraid of creation, of this constant nagging at the back of my mind urging me into making something, putting something out, out there. Now when I say creation it isn’t anything exclusive but just a product of my creativity, I guess.
Sometimes when I catch myself talking I realize how ungrateful I must sound. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining because I’m not, I’m merely putting it out here that having to live up to these superior expectations I’ve created for myself and after having seen how much brilliant lies in the world, it’s scary, it is mother fucking scary.
Having seen so much of it already and then creating something myself and not being able to love the product is awful, but I’ve seen too much for now and I expect too much of myself at an instant.
I’ll see something beautiful and expect myself to have been able to do that too, but what I exclude from the equation is that there are long days and long nights and years too that go behind these projects or creations as I seem to be calling them here. There have been so many people and experiences and feelings, all of which are so particular and unique to the artist that simplifying his work as a brilliant art piece without seeing how it came to be is frightening and dangerously harmful to another creator.
I have to let myself loose, I must create without the fear of failure, its success or failure is entirely out of my hands. All I must expect from it is my personal best at that time and as long as it sits well with me, well that’s all that matters.
Working on all the ideas I do have right now, they may be wonderful or bad, heart-aching or gut wrenching or straight up crap but maybe one day I’ll make something that stands a chance.
– someone with an urge to create.