Interesting process and decision. I sometimes encounter the same question, “Why am I doing this?” Hell, few read what I write; fewer would notice if I stop. I think about what else I could do with this time and energy, and how much freer I can be. I imagine this is a question or thought that many artists, especially those of us struggling to move it forward, encounter.
But more frequently and recently, I’ve accepted writing as a pleasure for itself. It’s a therapy that helps me cope with existence, and a means to explore ideas, and helps me understand what I’m thinking.
Honestly, I also think I’m addicted to the process. Could I stop? I don’t think I want to. We all have vices; my vice is writing.
Well, it’s my primary vice. Let’s just leave it at that.
Lately, whenever I sit down to paint or write, feeling all motivated and pumped, the feeling is quickly dampened by one huge negative thought: why am I doing this?
And more than the question itself being negative, the answers are. I am not good enough at painting. I don’t make good enough art. I don’t write well enough. I feel totally and utterly useless and worthless.
I know we all have these phases. I have them quite often and I’ve put those “episodes” of creative block up here on my blog. But this time, it feels worse.
Every time I sit down to paint, I look up for some inspiration, I think that I shouldn’t make art anymore because I will never get there. I will never inspire people through my art and I think, where will I end up? Even if I keep practising to get better, what is…
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