There are days like this–rare ones that I like to cherish. Or maybe even just a moment, where you can drink a hot cup of cocoa and all problems seem to wash away.
Next day, you wake up and find yourself in the reality of what is. It hits you and you know that you’ll never be the same again–that you’re already broken around the edges and even if the pieces were brought back together, the scars and rough surface will still show.
I think we all have to pass that traumatic phase in life in order to really bring out the best in our art. Sometimes I feel like it’s the only thing that keeps me alive and breathing. Art is, after all, an expression. It is our self outside the body. A manifestation of our mind and emotions penned down in ink or washed in colors. Hues of blue and purple splashed with bits of white.
Before all this, I couldn’t paint to save my life. Now, it is what keeps me grounded and not drifting away into fantasies or sinking even deeper into the abyss.
I no longer write or paint happiness. Art has become my catharsis. A piece of my soul that you can freely touch.