If we use the most cliche of metaphors and say that my life is a tunnel and that my future is the bright light at the end, i cant quite make it out. If we go with a less cliche metaphor and say that my life is a map and I'm reading the directions, I still can't quite make it out. I thought i was headed right to the highway, but now i find myself traveling all these weird back roads, and my original route seems hopeless confusing.
I thought i wanted to be an artist. But i didn't realize what that meant until now.
I think that being a professional artist takes a great amount of self confidence, and the belief that you are the best, that you can do it. I don't always believe that my work could ever make it. Its a weird feeling, realizing that your dreams will probably not come true. That your probably not good enough, that you might live the life you always feared. Being an artist is so raw, I don't think my fragile bones could take that kind of exposure. Even if i wanted to, which i don't know if i do, the chance that others would like my work is outstandingly insignificant, that it alone is enough to talk anyone out of anything;the undeniably odds are stacked up so high against me that what ever beautiful metaphorical horizon line is out of sight. I am so afraid that even if i conquer the odds, ill find that there is no horizon, and there is no sun. Then i'll be left with nothing. But what scares me more than that is waking up one day and regret every decision i ever made, and hating my self for not believing in my dreams. Because no one else will if i don't.
I want to badly to be great.
I want to be remembered. If your existence only lasts until that last person who remember you dies, where will i be? I am not ready to not exist. I'm not ready for my paintings to be thrown away or sold for a quarter out of my basement after i die as strangers trade money for my old things. That is not who I want to be. I don't want to give up now, to never look back at these days where i truly believed i was worth something, that someday I would matter, that they would matter. I'm not ready for that either.
So I have to decide whether it is more terrifying to try and to fail, or to never try at all.
Ignorance is bliss in the same way an artless being could never feel this sort of pain. I wish every day i had any other passion.
But I can't quite make out if I even really mean that at all. Not yet. Maybe not ever....but defiantly not yet.
Listening to: Kate Nash-The Nicest Thing