Is being constant the same as being repetitive?
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for quite some time, inspired mainly by the content I publish here on the blockchain. Even though I try to be consistent and avoid being repetitive, I feel like I always end up in this same cycle that repeats itself over and over again.
This question touches on several areas, since I was mainly inspired to come up with the title by looking at this graffiti—which was done a couple of weeks ago—and comparing it to one I did a year ago. As you can see, this was through Facebook, which makes it a little easier for me to look back on memories with the exact date; I usually get a notification about it.
The point here is the art itself when I talk about graffiti, since, as you can see, I’ve been creating designs that are quite similar for quite some time—and some people find them repetitive. However, there are things that, honestly, don’t need to be explained; they’re felt, applied, and evolve little by little in graphic art, and everyone has their own style. And even though the letters may look similar in this case—specifically the letter “f,” which is very common in graffiti—there are many types of similar letters, as well as different styles of graffiti.
We adapt to each one depending on who we are as individuals—some people like oval styles, some prefer straight lines, and others like protruding tips. No matter how similar the letters may be, there will always be something that sets them apart.
I think that once we’re clear on this, we can easily distinguish between what’s repetitive and what’s consistent, because I know I’ve been pretty consistent and have been a part of the state’s hip-hop culture, representing it through skateboarding, graffiti, and rap as well.
If you’ll allow me, I’ll share a link to my latest release, which is a vent against the Venezuelan government and the situation currently unfolding.
This video is deeply emotional, and I feel that the visual work captures the very real emotions—concern, hatred, and anger—that the Venezuelan people are experiencing. And this is where the issue of repetition comes in, because no matter how much my artistic side wants to be consistent, I still find myself repeating the same themes on a human level. The world and the crisis won’t let us move forward; the mind simply can’t focus on creating. I can’t think about art when I have to worry about what I’m going to eat; I can’t think about poetry when I have to figure out where to walk, and I can’t think about creating when my mind is preoccupied with how to get the money I already need to spend.
And here’s the most negative part of the whole problem: it’s sapping—not just a little, but significantly—that energy we have to move forward. We’re starting to feel fear—not just of failure, but of wasting time and squandering energy on something that doesn’t work. That’s why we’re gradually learning to cherish the moments of PayPal, but one of my greatest fears right now is getting used to this calm, this peace, this apathy, this misery, and this medi mediocrity.
It’s like a cry of encouragement—a desperate cry of struggle—because I have no intention of giving up. I know I can repair the damage I’ve done, and I know my future depends on no one but myself.
