Nov. 8th, 2006
Every Angst Has a Silver Lining
Nov. 8th, 2006 04:25 pmDespite how fucked up I am about changing the focus of my artistic output (again), I am very excited about the prospect of writing novels.
When I go down a new road, it's like my whole brain begins to spin around a new axis. It's like the poles have reversed. It's like fresh sheets on the bed.
My brain is full of flak, though. I am being mean to myself and unforgiving. Yesterday I lost the stylus for my new Palm Pilot and I was full of blame and unlove for myself.
Sometimes it seems that the confidence I gather in order to create is gathered at great cost like scant krill strained from an ocean of non-confidence. Maybe that's why making art is so precious to me. When I create, I feel I exist. I feel I'm worth something.
Snake doesn't care about my art and, ultimately, that's a blessing. He cares that it's important to me but he says my true value is in my kindness. This creates tricky feelings in me. If he loves me for things I'm not sure about, I have trouble trusting that love. If he doesn't love me for the reasons I love myself, I feel cheated.
In the end, it's easy for me to believe I'm a good artist and harder to believe I'm a good person. Someone telling me otherwise is doomed to be doubted.
When I go down a new road, it's like my whole brain begins to spin around a new axis. It's like the poles have reversed. It's like fresh sheets on the bed.
My brain is full of flak, though. I am being mean to myself and unforgiving. Yesterday I lost the stylus for my new Palm Pilot and I was full of blame and unlove for myself.
Sometimes it seems that the confidence I gather in order to create is gathered at great cost like scant krill strained from an ocean of non-confidence. Maybe that's why making art is so precious to me. When I create, I feel I exist. I feel I'm worth something.
Snake doesn't care about my art and, ultimately, that's a blessing. He cares that it's important to me but he says my true value is in my kindness. This creates tricky feelings in me. If he loves me for things I'm not sure about, I have trouble trusting that love. If he doesn't love me for the reasons I love myself, I feel cheated.
In the end, it's easy for me to believe I'm a good artist and harder to believe I'm a good person. Someone telling me otherwise is doomed to be doubted.