I was never an artist. All my life I was aiming for my work to be perfect, for my drawings to be clean, proportional, exactly as I expected them to turn out at the end.
When 1.5 year ago my dad died, and I went through the deepest void and derealization yet in my life, I gained the courage to grab the brushes and sprays, and start making the art that at the end made me proud, that in the end felt like it had a part of me in it. Art that wasn't perfect, but was real.
That's when the process of art became the main point of it, not the result.
Going outside on a snowstorm and spraying a piece of board became art itself.
Letting yourself feel the rage, sadness, void... Feels like a rebel against the world, against everything that conditions you to keep your tears, your scream, your suffering inside. Against everything that puts a label on it.
Here is a part of me, a part of my journey, a part of my pain.
The Real Art, that could come from nothing but expression.
I love all my pieces 鉂わ笍
Most of them are yet to be finished, and their future is still not defined.
I would be happy to show more of my journey and my dear pieces, as well as story and feelings behind them, If any of You would like that 鉂わ笍
Thanks for Reading 馃
#art #paintings #story #reflection #acrylics #depression #spiritual
