Expressing My Feelings

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Waves of insecurity, threaten to drown me.

My sense of confidence, held in my deepest core plunges downwards.

Terror engulfs me; I seek the person I once was, and am meant to be.

Tethered in at every angle, I begin to shrink.

I seek a response, from the skies above me, but hear no reply.

 

Lately, I’m feeling more comfortable writing, then I’ve been in the past as a painter. I miss my visual forays into foreign worlds.

My current focus on the written word feels productive to me, but lacks something fundamental. At least when I use it as my sole purpose of expression.

I did the drawing above, rather quickly, without much attachment to the outcome of its appearance. It made me remember, how important color is to me. It reminded me of the feeling of my brushes, or brush-pens, against the initially blank backdrop of white paper.

Just creating this small piece, made me happy in a way that writing isn’t capable of.

I’ve been ill, I haven’t sold any paintings, or prints, and something in me is doubtful of my talent as an artist.

It’s interesting how, when we stop doing something that is dear to us, it can become more and more challenging to return to it. Fear and uncertainty give rise to intense doubt.

As often is the case, I am realizing that my distress at beginning a new painting, is preventing me from doing what I love; what I must do.

Does this ever happen to any of you writers, and creatives out there? How do you deal with it? I would love to hear your stories.

 

1 Comment

  1. This probably won’t mean much coming from someone with zero talent in writing or art, but I used to do a bit of both. Art was more ad-hoc as I have no natural talent, but I enjoyed copying something and making it my own. Writing used to be a bit of anything and everything, but that stopped, too. I can’t seem to make myself get back into either. I know many would say depression does that to you and takes away the sense of enjoyment you once had, but there’s a part of me that desperately wants to do something, but can’t. I’ve always wanted to write a novel, too. I accept that it will be a bad one and nobody would want to read it, so my expectations are low, but I can’t make myself start that, either. It feels awful, being painfully stuck. But my case is different as I have no talent and I’ve never done either on the kind of basis you have with your art. It breaks my heart a little reading this, not just because I feel it captures something I feel, but because I hate that it’s made you doubt yourself. Even if it’s just a little or just browsing through the wonderful creations you’ve done over the years, I hope you can ease your way back into it. Don’t let depression and illness win out. Your talent is not up for debate. You’ve got it. Your creativity is still there, when you’re ready to use it again.
    Caz xxxx

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