I have a theory. I believe disappoinment, angst, sadness, and anger always lead to some of the best works of an aspiring artist. That is sincerely difficult to place out there as I dont normally refer to myself by such a title...but, art is a large part of what drives me. And I aspire to own an artform, make it my own, and not be consumed by its intensity. My progress so far has led me to my previously stated theory.Those moments in a dim room, where the cold is only fought by the warmth of nicotine and caffeine unleash a torment that can often result in a masterpiece. New ideas seem stronger, sturdier and significantly more powerful than those which emerge in the haze of happiness.
I was in a dark place today. Doubts, questions and the exhaustion that resulted from a lack of answers were dominant in my solitude. After hours of looking over details that were a maze to be easily lost in...I gave in to the only thing I knew was in my control at the moment. Through charcoal and led, little pieces of myself were regained. Every part was painful, making the process far from simple. Yet, by the time I reached for my paintbrush, I noticed my aching has subdued, a fondness for color had replaced it. The canvas was my pressure suit.
It stands in front of me now, waiting. Whether a need to run to it be a result of happiness or anger; it will always be waiting. I tend to forget that at times.
Then a day like today comes along.