If you followed me for a little while, you know that I am first and foremost – a painter. Being a blogger, making videos, creating content for instagram, it’s all fun and nice, but it’s a hobby, and something that I could (and have) go without. Being an artist though, it’s not something I just do, it’s not just a hobby – it is who I am. Being an artist is what I am at the core, what my essence and soul is all about.
Which is why it was so tragic for me when I suddenly stopped painting.
There are times when I paint (or draw, create) every single day. For the most part, the last 3,4 years have been like that. And then sometimes due to work, having long shifts, or being creatively drained at work, I do it less often. I paint on the weekends, or once in 2 weeks, or just a little during the day, in those sacred 30 minutes I manage to steal. But this time, it’s been more than 2 months. 2 months of absolutely nothing.
I feel like I’ve lost myself.
After the car accident, things have been going really bad. My injury and constantly having to stay in bed, then Baby’s, then Cat passing away.. ALL of that was messed up, and I tried to maintain positive, tried to push through it. And though I failed at it a lot, sometimes I would succeed, too. And some days I’d be okay, and I would create, and I would feel that joy again. And paint. At least something.
But then came the passing away of my little B.
And all the windows and doors slammed and shut, and there was no light coming through anymore. And the darkness is still keeping me hostage.
Most people create most – and actually, their best work when they’re feeling down, when bad things happen. They say “what’s bad for your heart is good for your art”. And though I have created some pieces in my bad times, I am definitely not one of those people. I create when I am happy and vibrant and excited and overjoyed with life and my love and every new morning. And I haven’t been that at all. And I haven’t been able to pick up my brushes at all. The thoughts of Baby always sitting next to me while I paint also pushed me away, it would be too real to sit with my paint and brushes and not see her there next to me.
And I didn’t want to taint and ruin my most special place. My true love, my wonderland, my escape. Which has always been the purest form of joy for me. I didn’t want to go there, and go through that door, and carry all of this darkness in a suitcase with me. I didn’t wanna open it and make the special place dark, as dark as I feel.
So I have been staying away from it. I stopped painting. I stopped being me.
I even felt like I’m not allowed to call myself an artist anymore, as I haven’t been making art for so long.
But then I realized, not painting doesn’t not make me less of an artist. Just like I would still be a woman even if I didn’t bleed every month, or have a baby, or love a man/woman… I am still an artist, even if I didn’t pour my soul out on a canvas in months. I am still myself even though I haven’t seen myself, as I truly am, in months.
Today I got up and I started painting. I usually work really fast, but this wasn’t fast. I have just finished layer one. It is gonna be a sea, waves, people swimming.. I have it in my head, I just need to pour it out on the canvas, too. It is gonna be a lot about what I feel like. Like I’m fighting through a current , like waves are throwing me around, pulling me down.. But, there’s gotta be a sunny shore somewhere.. At some point.
I stopped painting, because for a while, I stopped swimming.
Because life is not easy, and when life is unfair to you, you think you’re hurting it back by shutting off and letting go. But you’re not.
I’m realizing now, the revenge, the victory, the triumph – is to keep swimming.
- Dedicating all the paintings I will ever paint to the little love of my life, my little Baby. ❤