»Why would I even want to make art in the first place?« was one of the questions I had when I had issues filling up a blank page in my sketchbook. And no, it was not really ment to be a philosophical or an objective question (even though the part of me that's into art history is itching to write an essay with all the citations at the bottom of the page). I could definitely treat it as a research topic, but I don't think it'd hit the spot it's ment to hit. I question myself all the time over various things that I do in life, but I always get uneasy with this one. It's like hitting your elbow against an edge of a table and the pain shoots up your arm until you feel it everywhere. A giant ouch.
I think the »ouch« is there due to various reasons and circumstances I struggled with. I was a quiet kid and drawing was a huge deal to me. It was a way to express myself and say all the things I didn't say out loud. I created my own world where I could be free to be myself without others to judge. It made me happy, which is already the most relevant answer to the main question.
Eventually I entered high school and things started to change. To put a long, dreadful story short, there was pressure building. Pressure over a career choice and additional education mixed together with unresolved family trauma and broken relationships. I think part of the reason art was (and still is to an extent) a sensitive topic is due to the fact that it was not viewed as a sustainable career choice. I was told numerous times to treat it like a hobby, even though it obviously ment more to me than that. Due to my family's less than fortunate monetary status during my childhood, my love for art and upcoming existential dread didn't mix well together. During those times I first started asking myself why do I even want to create anymore. All the other questions just cascaded after that and sounded something like:
If I couldn't sell my art and it doesn't make me any money, then what's the point?
If only one person disliked my art, then what's the point? Everybody has to love it for me to be sucessful.
I still need years of practice to be any good.
I don't have enough money to study art, so I should probably abandon the thought.
If I get criticized it means I suck.
I don't have the right supplies, they're too expensive. I can't make anything worth wile with what I have.
Those are just some of the things that made me hate the act of creativity itself and due to it being so intimately connected to my functioning, I was basically hating myself (back then there wasn't much information about mindfulness available; in my country the concept was in its infancy). When I was around 26 (and a whole family drama reached its peak) I was a burnt out mess of a person and I didn't realize how bad it was. I was neglecting myself for years and now I was feeling it ten times over. I abandoned the things I loved in exchange for a massive burnout. And then after years of not even trying to draw a simple sketch, I asked myself why do I have the need to create again?
The first small step I took almost by accident were coloring books. I remember the dread of picking up a coloring book (it was Joanna Basford's Lost Ocean) and how uncomfortable I was with the thought of not being able to do the illustrations justice but I tried nonetheless. Coloring was a very gentle and fun way for me to experiment with colors and art supplies (I wouldn't know half the supplies I own existed if I wouldn't be following adult coloring channels on youtube) and get me into art again. There is a strange concept in my country (I'm not sure if its the same elsewhere) that coloring books kill creativity. Well, for me the exact opposite happened.
My next step was keeping multiple journal types. I kept a sketchbook and a junk/art journal (which was a more relaxed version of a sketchbook). To combat issue of fearing the blank page, I took whatever supplies I had (even with no motif idea), put them on paper and drew shapes that I tried to put into an interesting composition. It was tough at first since I didn't really know what I was doing but it was a start. It wasn't long before I had some really fun, spontaneous artworks that were only for me to see, without anybody else out there telling me I should sell it or give me reasons why it's bad. It was a blessing and those books are a treasure for me now.
During my journey of reclaiming my love for art, I started writing in journals as a way to help keep myself on track and to find reasons behind any destructive thoughts I had, which were holding me back not only in creating but also other areas in life. It was a major life saver and an addition to sketchbooks and art journals.
So to get back to the main question: Why do we create?
For me it's a question of equal substance as to why do we eat? Of course you won't die if you don't draw, don't understand me the wrong way, but you might risk being frustrated with yourself to the point where you start to be unhappy and negative. To me, not being able to express myself is to deny myself the truth of who I am.
Creativity is the joy of making meaningful things and creating something that's completely unique, a culmination of thought, skill and materials that mirror who you are in that moment, with all your heart and soul - and that in itself is beautiful to me. That's what I think makes art (in any of its forms) worth it.
I think everyone has their own addition to what creativity means to them and I would love to hear any oppinions and experiences you might have, so don't be shy and write a comment.
Thank you for following my train of thought and remember to be gentle to yourself, silence that inner critic and keep on doing all the artsy things!
Have a lovely day,
Vanteri, April 2024
A disclaimer:
English is my second language and though I do mostly read English books, I understand that grammatical errors will inevitably be present in my texts so I apologize in advance.
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