I woke up after four hours of sleep in panic. I have had a dream about going to an interview. I entered a tiny dirty yellow room. There was only one gray window, dead flower in a beige pot, plastic-wooden table and a chair. I was sitting there staring at the shadow. Trembling I took out my portfolio. The silhouette I was talking to was changing between Jareth the Goblin King and Andy Warhol. I knew that I don't want to fail in front of this heroes. I knew, I wasn't good enough. I got paralysed.
I woke up.
The war that one has in one's own mind can be as destructive as a real war. The fears...seeing one owns vulnerability, passions, wishes, dreams, dramas. And one's greatest enemy, the judge: oneself. In my dream I embodied my fear of being not good enough into great people who were only a shadow. The two figures were my own judgement, my own demon showing me that I will fail in what I love to do.
Since I've found out that I can be an artist. I have always wanted to be one. I have always tried to do what I love. I feel, this is who I am. At the moment I am looking for a job. Every time I am opening website, reading the vacant places I feel lost. I have a B.A. in PR and Advertisement and one B.A. in Graphic Design. I like doing stuff in these area, but I love the design more. I want to do creative job and then it will never be a job, it will be just art.
With the moment of growing up we start to put labels. The human mind needs them so it can categorize something in the social structure. It needs them to search and find. I found out that I don't want to be categorized. Even if I want to make art and work as a designer, will this actually make me an artist? Perhaps, I will only be put in this category in my own mind and the heads of the others. But nobody can be "pure" when being labelled, because every soul has too much ingredients and every artist is cooking his creations with them. The longer the artist cooks the deeper he explores and finds out new and magnificent ingredients. The artist does not need a label. So how could an artist find a categorized job?
xoxo
Blackish fluid and unhealthy mist are poisoning my days
Thinking of the self as being an artist
- may be, it is a big mistake
There are spirits in my late night bottle
But there are too many in my head
Gently loving crimson revolver is calling the colour red
This is NOT a suicide
For the many thoughts are stopping me from diving
- not that I don't want to be no more....
But the progress of an artist is to find out - how long?
