When it comes to the task of creating, I have often faced the issue of worthiness. Somehow I’ve led myself to believe that one must be worthy of creating art. One must have something important to say, or to have faced considerable challenges in ones life to make something worth making. I’m lucky enough to have led rather a privileged life, with a happy family, great friends and never in want of anything. What could I possibly have to say that’s of any interest to anyone?
Now, I know I’m not the only one who is afflicted with this particular mindset. And I’m sure it’s put a lot of great people off every making their first mark. Today, I made myself pick up a pencil and make some marks. Whilst in the process of drawing, I didn’t consider my worthiness. I drew for the act of drawing. I drew to express my oneness with the craft and with the subject matter. I made marks and erased marks, but even in the erasure, an indication that the marks were once there still remained. And it reminded me of me. Of all the marks that, over time, have made me who I am right now. A restless, dirty-blonde romantic with some busted dreams and a good record collection. Some marks you see, some marks you can’t, but you gotta own them eventually, and you might as well try and turn them into something beautiful.
So that’s what I did today. And that might not be worth much to you, but to me, it’s a bloody epiphany.
