I Hate Art.

I’m a creative. And frankly, I hate art.

Art is hard. I hate looking at a blank canvas and feeling all of my emptiness on a page. You see, blank pages stare back. They mirror your soul. There is no hiding in art- no “good enough.” It’s either brilliant or nothing, and so often that can feel like a direct reflection of your own heart. There is nothing as heartbreaking at picking up a pen and realizing you have nothing to give, no great truths to share, nothing that will leave this place any better than when you arrived. Art makes you small. Incompetent. Confused. Art makes you nothing.

Art is hard. But there is something intriguing in the art of examining the commonalities of the human experience. And there is something beautiful in for once being encouraged to question- being encouraged to refine the talent of being unrefined. Coarse people often make the most beautiful things. We’re all messes, and the people who can embrace and acknowledge their inner chaos to unleash on a page often find the most truth to share. It takes authenticity to tell stories. The untapped wealth of fragility and inner absurdity usually encouraged to keep filed away in the dusty corners of your mind have nowhere to hide under an easel’s spotlight. Art can’t be confined the way my spreadsheet mind wants it to be- it goes dry just as I try to find it and then the well bubbles up again and it’s exploding, touching everything from a letter to a smile seen in just the right light- the indecency in a bit of soul seen unexpectedly.

Art is hard. It’s terrifying to not know where today your mind will go today, let alone tomorrow. To be unable to pinpoint where ideas come from- so often infuriatingly numb in the designated moment and so bright and unavoidable in the shower or car or in passionate moments when they are far too inappropriate and inconvenient. It grabs you- this fusion of right and left brain pulling, tugging, touching and weaving ideas and color and life into the most insane glimpses of a beautiful mess.

You should ignore those glimpes- they are far too dangerous to face on your own. Hate art. Run to the comfortable. Don’t worry about it, someone else will fix that problem. Hate questioning. Hate discovering. Hate finding something more in your life. And maybe go post happy photos of yourself on facebook, complete with filters and perfect lines. It’s easier. I promise.


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