Art, Writing

My difficulty with writing…

Those that know me have often been subjected to very long emails nearing novelette lengths. And they’re just emails. They’re filled with possible ramblings or just several paragraphs of intense thought. But still…they’re emails. They should be short and to the point.

I’ve been working on that, so now my emails usually are short and to the point, but I really have to fight off rambling and giving every detail of every thing I’m attempting to communicate. I think partly it’s because of my fear of being misunderstood. This carries on into my blogs.

When I create a post that involves a drawing, it’s much easier for me to just quickly jot down a few thoughts about the image and leave it at that. I certainly have an urge to go in depth and tell you every thought I have about not only the resulting image, but also my feelings on it while creating it and so on. What happens is I end up with a very, very long post that not many people will want to read. Plus, when I write like that it seems I get burned out. So much so that I won’t post for a very long time after. Obviously, that happens now without the burnout, but I’m working on that too!

I feel internally divided – where one part wants to share a lot with the world and be very open about everything (I think letting people know they’re not alone while still acknowledging their unique circumstances is important) and the other part wants to remain closed off, severely private and almost cold, I suppose. It’s a constant battle and whoever the victor is depends on my mood that day or moment.

The reason I’m thinking about these things tonight and writing about it is because I want to try to find a middle ground or at least a comfortable place with my posting (and myself). Presenting those pieces as I do was a big deal for me because there is a lot (a LOT) of resistance from my family and some friends about the type of work I do and it’s always been a struggle trying to feel good about myself and please them at the same time. My family likes what I do as long as it’s not what “I” do, if that makes sense. I don’t think I would ever be able to show them the works that I post here and the amazing thing is that these pieces have been very well received by others – I didn’t think that was possible. The voices of my family rotate through my head when I make those sometimes, so to hear/read positive messages/critiques about them floors me.

I know that when some people meet me and then see my artwork, their initial impression of me goes through a pretty large overhaul. I could say that I’m not a violent person; I’m actually very peaceful, but that’s not entirely true. It goes back to that division I mentioned earlier – part of me is violent and angry and the other part is incredibly peaceful and loving. That’s not to say that the work is violent though. I don’t think it is. I think the last two images I posted are actually very loving and represent an ultimate of something…maybe self-sacrifice? There are so many themes that could be applied and, if it were up to me, “violent” would be at the end of the list.

I like to keep this blog not too personal, but not so distant either. I hope I’m achieving that. I’m pretty sure I rambled…

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I blame insanity…

Because I’m a bit “off”, I feel that I am allowed to post more than one blog a day.  The last one was a few hours ago.  Since that time, I accomplished a few things.  Well…not really.  I went for a walk a bit after sunrise and took some photos.  Silly photos that serve no purpose, other than allowing me the opportunity to walk around the apartment complex and strategically drop my business cards here and there.  Littering with ulterior motives.

I saw a beautiful bird during my adventure.  You know what I wanted to do with it?  I wanted to catch it and bite its fucking head off.  Feel the beak crack between my teeth like popcorn kernels.  The caviar burst of its eyes.  Feathers that will later need to be flossed out.  Blood.  I love blood.  Mainly my own, but some days, I want to see it from any source.  Red.  Thick. Sticky.  Beautiful.

Rarely do I reveal my violent side.  It’s such a large and strong part of me.  One thing we humans have in common is we’re made up of different parts.  Some caused by nature, others by nurture.  I frequently question my most acute parts…wondering if they arrived in the womb or were established through experience.  The typical conclusion is the latter.

It feels good being afforded the chance to let these things out.  Let them be known.  Yes, simply to strangers who happen to fall on my blog.  Prior to this, the only way I was able to release them was through artwork.  It fascinates me, the way different people can look at the same piece and then come to their own various conclusions.  They look at it and try to see who I am or what I was thinking when I created such a disaster.  I enjoy the responses.

Back to my violence.  I’ve always been this way and have never known what it was like to not have savage ideas.  Don’t get me wrong…that’s not how I present myself nor is it how I am.  It’s just a part of me that, on occasion, pops up and takes over for a while.  But I enjoy it in a way…not the feeling itself, but knowing that I understand that about myself.  Because there is so much about myself that I don’t know…things that confuse me.  Things that I question.  Why am I like this?  Why am I like that?

Sometimes I feel as thought I have a story to tell.  However, I don’t think I’m quite ready to reveal it.  People suggest I write a book.  “It will help others” is the main line I get.  Perhaps it will and perhaps I will.  I don’t know how much time I have left on this planet, so I suppose “sooner than later” will work.

A couple of years ago something switched in my head.  I don’t know why it started, but I do remember the night that it started.  I was laying in bed, and I became very, very ill.  Past the point of being able to vomit.  Almost like I had contracted a serious flu.  I had symptoms of the flu.  Cold chills, sweating, fever.  I couldn’t move because I was so dizzy.  It just kept getting worse and worse and I thought for sure that I was going to die.  As the hours went on, I started having hallucinations.  Granted, I am prone to have hallucinations, but these were different.  While laying in bed, I thought that I had taken a large knife and slit my throat, one side to the other.  I remember feeling the warmth of the blood running out of my neck…trickles making their way to the back of my neck.  Making my pillow feel wet.  I remember it so clearly.  I felt the pain of it, the panic, and I felt the warm blood.  Eventually I realized that I didn’t actually do that.  That it was just a severe hallucination.  But after that, things changed.  The switch.

I went outside the next day.  I passed someone on the sidewalk and when I looked at them, I didn’t see them.  I saw their skeleton.  This continued.  Not only was I seeing skulls on necks instead of skin, but I started seeing people decomposing in front of me.  As if they were dead and the decomposition process was sped up.  Didn’t matter who I was looking at.  When I saw my psychiatrist, I told him about it and told him that his face was rotting off.

This lasted for a very long time.  It doesn’t happen anymore.  Sometimes I’ll catch myself studying the bone structure of someone’s face, but it doesn’t go beyond that.  I am VERY happy about that.

Someday I hope to be off medication.  When I started taking them, they sucked the creativity right out of my soul.  I was so dull and crushed – it was unbearable.  Now, sometimes, I feel like I’m starting to balance.  I still have, and treasure, my manic days where I’m electric and unstoppable.