#spring

Tough Art

I was told growing up that if something scared me, it was worth pursuing. It's an innate curiosity that has granted me efforts in bravery, discovery, and artistic fruition. If I read a play that questioned my ability as an artist, I was haunted. I needed to have it made or performed. I have performed nude on stage. I have worked on overzealous failures of productions. I have walked dark alleys at night. I have traveled to foreign countries alone. I have tried foods I couldn't pronounce. I have been hit by vehicles. And still, I pursue. I make art unapologetically. 

But I have met my match, and maybe some of you can relate; I am terrified of writing. It's why I can't get a blog out in less then 4 months. I'm terrified of placing my thoughts on paper (or electronically) and birthing them out into the cold, critical world. My opinions remain my own. My voice is seen in my photos and tangible artistic efforts. But not in my writing. That shames me. 

I love to write. I love the power of words. I romanticize over poetry. Tongue twisters tickle me. Plays seduce me. I just love it and have always wanted to write, for fun or other. But every time I sit down, I feel it deep within the pit of my stomach, a demon like terror that keeps my fingers from typing, my tongue tied, my heart aching. I used to think it was me questioning talent, or fear of the unknown. But it's through recent events I've discovered the truth behind this fear, and it is worth pursuing. 

I have discovered that through a combination of some fucked up relationships, a crazy move from Chicago, a whirlwind of career changes, I have some how lost a SENSE of myself, and therefore my voice. My identity doesn't make sense to me. It's been lost in turmoil and crazy, and the core of WHO I AM, at the moment doesn't exist tangibly for me. This is a HUGE realization, because it affects every aspect of my art making. If I have no voice, I have no mission, and without a mission, I can't relate my efforts, and then to attempt to write about it simply reveals my lack there of, which is WHAT MAKES THIS SO SCARY! I now am left to face the truth which is that my voice is unidentifiable to me and I have to rebuild it. EVEN AS I WRITE AND PUBLISH THIS, A KNIFE OF TERROR STABS ME.

Fuck. That is some existential shit right? I know. 

So let me return back to the original thought- "I was told growing up, that if something scared me, it was worth pursuing." I HAVE TO FIND MY VOICE. I want to talk so badly, about so many things! Boys, Abuse, Sex, Drugs, Travel, Photography, Life, Liberty, Trump, Feminism, Sexism, Puppies, Assholes, Humanity, Galaxies, Food, Drag Queens, Maniacs, Art, Ex-Boyfriends...

So, I'm going to be writing a shit ton more these days. No one is safe.