There was a time where I would tell myself I was going to art or design school as a kid. My dad derailed it. His reasoning was correct though, but to some extent I wonder and question if creating is for me anymore.
I’ve joke around and said I’m retiring, and have still kept going. The reasons I do things + the things that fuel me in a way are changing: I’m flowing with it while going against it.
I’d rather smoke and numb for a little bit, or enough to get me to sit down and take the time to compile thoughts, vs. feel the things that need to be felt, regardless of who knows about it or who has to “validate” me. I’m regulating myself, yes grasping for control in ways that feel counterproductive through spending money on supplies. I get ideas of things I’d like to make, and I make sure to have it stocked when I’m home. There’s people that couldn’t care less about what I make, and that’s cool. I’m ok with that because it’s a piece of me that winds up looking back to older paintings and getting stuck there.
