we were already dead

Comfort in discomfort is a song from the artist Lil Darkie (an artist I’ve been following for years, his song bring me very much comfort and his range and creativity never not amazes me) but it’s also something I want to write about today.

Today I restarted my phone and it ended up glitching, not reacting to my touch and not letting me log in. I panicked. Because that’s one of my biggest fears – my phone just dying on me out of nowhere. Well today that almost happened. It ended up kicking me out of everything, now I need to login everywhere again, and kind of forcing a reset on it (I didn’t actually lose any major data, just all my customization is gone). In a way this made me realize how dependent I am. Dependent on a little thing, almost my whole life, energy and brain capacity revolving around this little square.

It’s been a few days. I don’t remember what my initial point of this blog post would’ve been. I assume something along the lines of “even if something feels uncomfortable and weird, it’s important, change of environment is important. Sometimes you can find positivity in discomfort and this leads to some sort of comfort. The comfort knowing, that you do have the means to actually be uncomfortable and see the positivity in it. Not every discomfort can bring comfort. I don’t even think these two correlate directly. I think the knowing of change is what brings comfort. Getting out of ones comfort zone can be scary but also feel very rewarding. It’s growth.” That was more than a few lines. Maybe I did have something deeper in mind.

I’ve been feeling a little stuck when it comes to writing. It’s been too long again since I’ve been an author. At least I’m using my creativity in different places.
I’ve continued a painting that actually also correlates with this whole idea of art. It will be called similar to the book and the depiction is not only political but also explanatory to something in my book. It’s also just pure expression.
I was frustrated at first. I haven’t touched a paintbrush in so long I forgot what colors felt like. Later I talked to an important person in my life and we compared the making of our art. While they let the flow take over until they have a base and then envision from there, I realized I never really envision? I think similarly to how I write it’s more of a discovery. If I enter flow state while painting I don’t have a picture in my head. I rather focus on the movement of the brush and not on what it’s leaving behind. But I also don’t think about where the brush goes next, my hand takes over and my brain follows blindly. I just see where it takes me.

Another thought I want to share is how I feel about my art. I feel very sentimental and heavily attached to it. Giving a painting to someone that has not intentionally been made for this someone feels impossible. So if this does ever occur to someone that knows me as the person behind the screen, you should know this is very special. I’m giving you a part of me. Which essentially already happens when I paint for someone else. But creating with the intention of giving is changing up everything. It’s a completely different approach. I create in order to part with it. That’s not what I do with my art when I paint for myself.
I told this person: When I die I better get burned together with all my art. My art doesn’t have to last forever it just has to last with me. I don’t create for it to be existing outside of my timeline. No one can ever enjoy my art as much as I do. You can say you love it and you would hang it on your wall and you would love to own it but you have never felt or seen what I have. You don’t know what I put into that piece of art and even if I explain and make it into something tangible for you to understand you will never truly know. I’m the creator, the artist, the author and the first person to lay eyes upon it. And so I hope I’ll be the last person. I might burn it all before I part with this world. Make sure it’s all a memory.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

I forgot about this blog post, or rather put it off until I forgot. I can’t even recall when I started writing this, last month or even longer ago.

I did get consumed by a huge (maybe rather short lasting) wave of creativity. I haven’t painted but I sketched a lot, started an art account and I’ve also written quite a bit for my book. So to conclude this post let me give you a little scene from my book that has sort of to do with a certain discomfort:

I really want to give in. I wish I could give in.

I moved away from him. Away from his touch.

I’m cold now and my eyes have started watering up.

I look away but I don’t cover my face.