I’ve never bought into the cruel lie that the artist must suffer in order to make art, though it’s certainly the case often enough. Many are able to productively channel pain into beautiful and powerful work. Work that touches others and work that is therapeutic for the creator. Perhaps for some it is not merely helpful but rather a necessary part of processing their emotion.
But not me. Whenever I’ve suffered through periods of anxiety or depression, my work has suffered right along with me. In the current shock and confusion, there’s a part of me that refuses to see any point in making art right now.
But that’s bullshit, as you were probably already yelling at your screen, and I know it. This post is really just a reminder to myself, present and future, to get back to work. Getting back to work spawns a virtuous cycle while breaking a seductive vicious one. This moment will pass, and when it does we will need to be ready to continue the fight for our values.
So first things first, time to get the fuck back to work.