a trusted friend and visionary of an artistic advisor told me that artistry is an affliction. something you do despite all odds. not so much a compulsion but more of something you carry with you, almost a burden. in moments of lightness in my process i don’t feel this burden. i feel liberated, excited, capable. but most of the time it is a weight. a relationship you can’t let go of because it is you. you are inside the desire to make something.
at the age of 33, i understand this will not cease. i will more than likely continue to do this. but the moments of asking myself why i do/will venture forward are the burden. the possibility is always there, like the basement of a house you could fall into and not leave. the moments of frustration leading me to the voice that says why don’t you just stop?
sometimes it is a freeing idea — there are no resources so i can do whatever i want. i can make anything. there is no structure i need to adhere to.
but the small hurdles within this marathon sometimes feel like crossing a mountain. a schedule change. a space conflict. a pissy collaborator. an unreliable collaborator. a busted speaker i just carried up 2 flights of stairs.
but the ideas must be good. that’s the motivator. that is also the affliction. the ideas. the new. the making sense somehow through my body as an expressive tool. the something to say. despite the often times overwhelming urge to fold myself inside the security of silence. here we are. me and my affliction. years later and carrying it forward.
postmodernismisdead 