Some days I do not understand this type of self imposed struggle, the one that does not aim to make wealth. Some times the only thing that gives me hope is being put on a waitlist of an art opportunity, having a meaningful conversation with someone of the impact of their/my art making. And then what keeps me going is knowing I can pay for my expenses for the next one, then three, then six months, as I continue to leave a lot of time for art making, believing that what I believe in is not harming the world.
I think back to the years of idolizing techniques, body shapes, figures, styles, and people’s judgements of me. I broke my neck, metaphorically, in constantly looking up. As I work in studio this week, I channel that discomfort and aspiration. Perhaps there is something comforting in contortion, especially as it has brought certainty and peace before.
As I look up, I see that an aspiration awaits. And as the cliche goes, it is only a blurry metallic yet shiny projection of myself out in the illusory world, looking back at me.
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