This "weekend not weekend" I took myself to Columbus Museum of Art to see Bisa Butler's work in person. In addition to seeing her Goddess-level art quilting, I was exposed to several new Ghanaian artists that had a flair for pattern and beautiful fields of color.
When I got home I took out my new Posca acrylic markers and an older unfinished painting and just - played. It felt good to be covered in paint, and now I am close to finishing a painting I didn't know I ever would finish at all.
It's a rough time for me and for many others out there struggling with what is going on in the world. It seems silly to muse about my own feelings of stress and self-loathing and fear - when I don't really matter in the broad sense. What does my creative passion really mean in the long run? Why make art when the world is burning? Why make art when rent is fucking high and fresh fruit is back to being a luxury?
Because I have to. Because sometimes it's the only thing to remind me that this life and this time matter. Because it's one thing I truly value about myself, and art has saved me before and continues to do so if I give it the chance. Plus I really need to make something with all these supplies I buy because I am sad so I have an excuse for "needing" them.
I wish I could hide from the world for a while and just make something beautiful and pretend like I am too.
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