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 ❤️
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 ❤️
Thanks for Reading 🤗
#art #paintings #story #reflection #acrylics #depression #spiritual