notes on art - notes app text via my sickbed, 2024
i really love beautiful things.. overgrown grass, bulging wet eyes, angel wings, molding strawberries, and the spilled out innards of unsweetened wounds. the usual motifs. i know for a fact there are others just like me which have had a habit of romanticizing all kinds of imagery growing up. with each passing year, more and more gets added into the little moleskin encyclopedia inside of me. different experiences, different people, they all influence us in the strangest ways.
a prized childhood teddy, cracked and broken dolls, blood matted fur, shibari ribbons, unkempt hair, plush animal paws, arrow-wounded deer, walls coated in love letters, beaming sunlight, glowing moonlight, pierced skin, pitch black fur, dark orchids, sweet baby kittens, teeth.. so much teeth, tear stained cheeks, baby blue hospitals and of course- the cruelty of living; the torture gardens. multicoloured bruises, blood stained; thick gauze, knobby knees, preserved life in jars, flowers growing between ribs, more teeth hanging on by a thread, and brittle bones on the forest floor.
the idea of doctors without diplomas, veiny blue eyelids, or being sawed open to be stitched back up again, a living yet rotting body. odd ideas used to cope with a reality i already exist in. a table full of scalpels, pliers, and scissors, resting atop a lace doily; being asked which one you'd like to choose.
the topic of art being self indulgent is interesting to me. it is hardly a legitimate insult, i don't see it as such regarding myself. i make what i want to look at, what i want to feel, convey; what i want to exist, what i want to consume. everyone should make art and write prose so self indulgent- purple and blue that it resembles a throbbing black eye. it's sacred, it's not for just anyone. it's for yourself, and the people like you. people that see themselves inside of the lines or smears you expel from your brain to your hands. for some, maybe it's a signal, a dogwhistle, a cry for help to get the attention and companionship for those similar to yourself. whether it's painting, sculpture, stories, poems, games. the artist and the admirer both want to be understood.
so if you so desire, create what you want. write about glass limbs and the girl who went missing in the december snow, then was found in the budding flowers of spring. write about how infatuation and obsession feels like a mix of rotten and overripe fruit. write about how your stomach turns and guilt festers inside of your core.. spreading throughout your bloodstream like a disease. write about long grass peering out of the water, and lily pads adorning shallow waves. write about how you miss the dead brittle trees sticking out of the bog behind your childhood home. write about the big wet eyes of roadkill with rain dampened fur.
write about how beauty doesn't always mean good, and the opposite doesn't mean evil. write about how rough calloused hands have been the most gentle to you, how a beautiful manicured hand was the one striking your back with a tender whip; a dozen times in sequence as you cried on your darkened achy knees.
write about finding and creating beauty in the absence of beauty. write about making art for the sole purpose of something pretty to look at. write about making art for the sole purpose of making art. make art about contradictions and hypocrisy. write about the crispy wildflowers that didn’t quite make it through the scorching unforgiving summer. write about a small box of hair sitting on top of the mantle. write about the devotion around your neck, and the vengeance in your heart.
write about trembling hands clasped shut in prayer, not praying for forgiveness.. but praying to God that something, or anything is listening. write about being wrapped in deer hide while your feet crush the leaves beneath you. make art about the multicoloured bruises you love, the rose tinted; bandages, knees, lips and cheeks. make art about knotted hair flowing down your back and encasing you like a cocoon, write about the hair in areas no one sees. make art about fruit-stained finger tips and the dirt under your fingernails.
make art about looking up into the night sky as snowflakes fall onto your hot flushed forehead, and your blood pouring out.. melting the pure white snow beneath your wilted body. make art about stumbling into the sweet grass as your blood seeps into the dark soil beneath you. make art about the sun beaming into your eyes as you take your last strangled breath, and your eyes glaze over.
do not let anything stop you from making the art you truly want to make, no matter if people find it self indulgent, self absorbed, stupid, creepy.. or god forbid, 'cringe'. make art and love art earnestly. liking things ironically is cowardice. not caring about things is cowardice. love things strongly, love them completely. as cliché as it sounds, life is genuinely too short to care about what other people are thinking about your art; but life is also too long to spend the days NOT making art. if you feel compelled and driven to make something, it is a sin and a disservice to yourself to not follow through with it. create what makes you feel good, create in order to feel good, feel good to create. draw something, paint a picture, write a story, write a poem, sing a song, dance, code.. code a website, code a game, just do what you want to do.. and make it beautiful.
