artists —

i create, but nothing i breathe into existence is satisfactory. i am no god, so why am i doing this? the days i poured all of myself into my work can't just be aimless. the blood on my hands and wrists has dripped onto more drafts than i would like. i can't just create "for fun". if i am without purpose, i am nothing. i am no god.

artists are —

it is 2:31 am. i should not be awake. the baby blue coffee mug on my desk is empty as of two minutes ago, drained of caffeine and ideas i should have recorded on coffee shop napkins before they faded out of existence. i manage to write down one more line of poetry. one more measure of music. one more shell of a drawing scribbled out in the margins of halfheartedly recorded notes on a subject i won't even consider pursuing in college. the rest of the night (or maybe early morning) is spent watching the same youtube videos on repeat. i don't bother looking at unfinished projects again.

time passes.

it is 4:14 am.

i should not be awake.

artists are human.

the creative process has never been consistent.

art —

honesty is (the worst) (inhibiting) (painful) the best policy. if you don't like it, try a different policy. create something that everyone will relate to. indulge in the validation for a brief moment, and then realize that you don't feel the same way. start over; create a piece that gives you closure. fashion your own telescope, look through the lense, and see yourself as you are. raw emotion and flaws — both surface and internal — will stare you down and you will be terrified, but you cannot deny the authenticity. honesty is a lot of things at once, but it will always be better than resonance.

art is —

the stars have always been out of reach, but being able to materialize our dreams make touching the stars a little easier. this is no motivational quote on pinterest: this is a story of trying to touch the stars, failing, and trying again because there is no other option. if we cannot run, then we will run anyways. resilience is what defines us.

art is a —

i don't know what to write. more importantly, i don't know what i should write. there are so many possible conclusions to this piece — i can't even place a finger on one of them. every idea i come up with evades me when i finally write it into being, and i can't remember why i started this piece in the first place. perhaps art is a contradiction.

art is a process.

we are constantly evolving, and our work along with us. our art may be a mere mimicry of life, but we redefine what it means to be alive.