Endings and beginnings
To put into words the events and revelations of the last week is rather difficult.
How does one take the final moments of a very important chapter, actions that were completely subconsciously directed, and summarize them into a quick and easy to read post? Emotions, epiphanies, random thoughts, hope...
I recorded myself punching a canvas with black paint for 6 minutes...and finished by slicing it open and peeling both sides back to reveal the frame. None of this was planned. I just felt it. It was neither commercial nor pretty to look at. And since then I haven’t painted. What I did do is have a conversation with a friend.
Art is supposed to be a vehicle of healing.
A way of forming turmoil into a form that can be expressed, observed, digested. As I sat on my floor considering the work I’d done earlier in the evening my mind was awash in thought. Well, not thought, frustration and anger. If I were to express my emotions, work it out, all it would be is black paint on a canvas. And, I had the feeling I would be able to fill many, many canvases with it, and the process would be violent. I have a lot of that in me from a long time of, well, stuff.
It felt as though all I had done in the last 4 months was a lie, me looking away from the truth rather than confronting it, because what I felt was anything but healed after all I had created. Why was that? Where was this feeling better that was supposed to happen? Paint was supposed to be the voice to carry my pain away and all that. But, I still hurt...a lot.
I wanted to hit something. I wanted to paint something. I wanted to feel some sort of relief from the weight on my shoulders. What could I do?
My buddy brought everything into focus for me, giving me the perspective I needed.
What I had done was not just a moment of frustration, although that’s what it felt like at the time, but a culmination of a lot of subconscious streams that finally found their point. My piece literally means nothing to anyone who doesn’t have the context. And, even within context it’s not a massive piece to be lauded.
For me, it was the period on the end of a sentence. I may not have realized it in the moment...i actually felt like it was a cheesy piece of wannabe art trash and that anyone who looked at it would tell me to move on and change my hats because I had no future doing this. But, it was most definitely the end of something...something quite important.
Do I feel healed now that I have perspective on what happened?
No. But, I have moved forward. Would I be able to describe what exactly has happened over the last 4 months, the last couple years...not yet, not really. Forward is a strange direction for me, something I haven’t felt for a very long time. Yes, I have been headed in that direction for a long time, but the self-awareness to see the forest for the trees...that’s a recent thing.
There is still a lot of black paint and anger on the horizon. I’m still in pain, I still feel lost, and there’s a lot of work on myself to be done. That 12x12 canvas that I filmed myself punching with black paint, that was a step forward though. And since me and my buddy talked about it and he gave me the insight I needed to hear, well, let’s just say I see options for the first time in a very long time. To many it might seem dumb, and I guess you could look at it like that, but, you know what? I’m gonna believe in the process, both artistic and healing. What matters to me doesn’t have to matter to anyone else, as long as it helps.
Hope y'all have a great day!