"Just slap anything on when you see a blank canvas staring you in the face like some imbecile. You don't know how paralyzing that is, that stare of a blank canvas is, which says to the painter, ‘You can't do a thing’. The canvas has an idiotic stare and mesmerizes some painters so much that they turn into idiots themselves. Many painters are afraid in front of the blank canvas, but the blank canvas is afraid of the real, passionate painter who dares and who has broken the spell of `you can't' once and for all." ~ Vincent Van Gogh
I'm writing right now to attempt to shift this paradigm, because I've been reminded lately about how unimportant my struggles are to others, because maybe it seems like I've got it all figured out. I am taking that back. My guidance, my experience, all exist because of my struggles. I have to work against how easy it is to say that nobody cares when I encounter apathy or indifference. I vent. I have no outlet. I give up and come back to myself. I find ways to cope and turn it around. I come back to the blank page.
It's perfectly okay to find perspective but still struggle, even when outside forces - including those closest to us - can only function when they are finding subtle ways to let you know that they are more than you, that your problems...your value doesn't matter. It's not malicious; Sometimes people use others as a foothold, a rock to keep from drowning. It's not Jack and Rose versus the floating debris in the aftermath of the Titanic. Jack is the debris, and Rose climbs on top regardless. That's why I love this journal. I see the behavior, internalize a response, and then I empty the cup here. It is my secret weapon. It’s my wall of understanding when everyone else is screaming to be noticed and admired. I just want to be understood and appreciated.
Hence, a break from Social Media. I haven’t posted anything significant since last year. I even stopped scrolling for much of this year. I just couldn’t accept how small it all wanted me to feel in order for them to have a sense of superiority. I also couldn’t take much of the knee jerk hate any more. I also - and this is important - didn’t feel the need to announce that I was making any changes. Reasons why fall into that category: unless they ask, who cares? I kept up with strangers on Twitter and TikTok, and only addressed a handful of direct messages on Facebook and Instagram before abandoning them altogether. Full stop on most of my former activity. It felt as arrogant as writing a newsletter about my life, and volunteering a subscriber base to it. "Here are all of the incredible things that are happening for me" is the subtitle. "Here are all of my anxieties and fears that I'm sure everyone can relate to" is the unspoken part. Hashtag to the nope on that one.
Why is the truth so uninteresting? Why is simplicity and authenticity so out of practice? Why are so many relationships so uneven, that it sometimes feels like there's no room for you, even in your own space?
One of my mother's greatest pet peeves was when she would spend hours cooking a meal, only to have people heavily drowning or altering it with condiments or other sauces. It’s because of her that whenever I go to a restaurant and they ask me if I need something, are usually say no because I want to taste the food first. If I go to a food truck and I’m talking directly to the person that makes the food, I ask them “what do you suggest?” The last time I did that I definitely went for a ride with the meal and feel like I really experienced the best they had to offer. The practice also taught me how to watch a performer, whether it's acting, playing music, dancing, or otherwise. I learned how to watch them without shadowing my ego over whatever they were doing. I didn't "season to taste," I was able to watch what they were doing and find an appreciation for seeing them at this point in their process.
Of course, when both parents left this reality, followed by a void where my career used to be, the ability to appreciate myself encountered a muddy, uphill climb. There's been so much noise, from the squeaky wheels to the grandstanders, and the deafening silence of all those who are no longer in the picture. After a few days of feeling uninspired and sleepless nights hoping for rest, I'm making a stand right now. I'm marking this spot in the journey, to call out my health - both physical and mental, to point at that next big thing to come into focus, and to carefully admire the masterpieces I've left on the wall.
No, my career milestones haven't left a void. If there's anything I've learned from going to so many art museums over the past few months, is that every artist has learned how to leave the last brushstroke and move on to the next painting. Some have held onto them, thinking they had no value, and hidden them from public view. Some created under severe pressure and potentially destructive commission. My resume is full of these works of art, all framed and on display in the memories of a lot of people over the years. Audience members and artists in small theaters, restaurants, and large venues are the stories framed on my walls.
Most of the greatest painters we celebrate weren't appreciated until after they died. I wonder if they lived as tortured souls, hoping to just use art as an escape or as therapy, but never finding acknowledgment through it. Or were they in a good frame of mind to appreciate their journey?
I'm no master of art, nor will I ever be famous. I have done some amazing things with a blank canvas, though. I have done the thing time and time again, and will have the chance to do more, as long as I'm able to keep myself safe and together. The hope of what's to come is the thing to look for. I sincerely wish the future the best of luck for when I get there.
