stable life (2022)

stable life. what does it feel like to live for something that kills you?

we all know the saying ‘life is a work of art’.
well, i never saw it as any more than one of those fake-deep metaphors about life that people throw around unsparingly, but the more i thought about it, the more i realized maybe that’s just exactly what life is.

everyone starts off with a blank slate.
the indifferent people, they leave it blank.
most people play it by the book - they keep it real.
find a practical object to work with, stick to it, and replicate it to the best of their ability.
some people are more gifted than the others… they replicate it down to every single nuance.
some people, no matter how hard they try, are struggling to even get the silhouette right.

well personally, i find still life boring - it’s not like i know what i want to do with my slate yet, i just don’t find still life particularly alluring.

it feels too … stable for me. 

i want something stimulating. exciting.
something more.
but i don’t quite know what it is yet.

so i spend my time staring at myself in the mirror, thinking my reflection will show me an answer.
i explore mountains and valleys, experiencing the highest highs and the lowest lows, first-handedly learning how the highs aren’t as worthwhile without the uphill battle preceding it.
i watch the trains pass by each station, the crowds of busy people alighting and boarding the train as if they all know where they’re heading to, while i sit on the station bench quietly observing the human nature, trying to make some meaning out of all this.
i watch the passing clouds by my windowsill, the transience of every sunset, just as beautifully impermanent as the creativity that sparks through my mind every once in a while.
and for those brief moments that these creative thoughts pass through my mind, i get the feeling that i have the potential to create something super special in my life. 

then i watch my peers excel at what they do, and my eyes return to my blank canvas... and i think to myself if i haven’t gone so far down this road, maybe that could’ve been me. 

but do they really have it better?
if in front of me was a beautifully drawn still-life piece and all that’s left to do for the rest of my life is to perfect it down to the bone and not mess up, would i really be satisfied?

in fact it may have been easier. my slate is still blank. it still isn’t too late for me to grab an object and start copying away. but i won’t do that.

i never seem to understand why we’re all given the choice or freedom to create whatever we want, but most people choose to rigidly bound themselves to the confines of reality.

working away at my desk and coming up with ideas is the very thing i live for, and it’s so exciting watching my own mind work away on autopilot mode. 

or at least - that’s what happens on a good day.

more often than not its withering away at your desk with every hour that passes as your mind rests in a state of idleness, then removing yourself from your own head and realizing you’ve wasted all this time being unproductive, and it leaves you feeling empty inside.

or when i excitedly tell someone about this new idea of mine that i’m extremely proud of, only to be left on read or plainly ignored-
and maybe it’s just because this just so happens to be something they don’t really care about, or maybe they don’t understand it at all-
but it still leaves you second guessing whether what you do even means anything.

and it’s these moments when i often find myself swearing at my empty canvas, thinking to myself ‘this is a waste of time’, wondering what the point even is? is there even an end goal?

to be fair, i have met a fair share of likeminded people who don’t like to play it by the book either. and it definitely makes me feel less alone in my pursuits. plus it’s always inspiring to look at what others have done with their lives.
but it also hits you like a truck because what if you never attain that level of greatness? what if THAT good idea never strikes and you live out a life of mediocrity?

it feels like i’m living for the very thing that is killing me slowly.
i live for the moments of euphoria as i draw up visions of new projects and ideas in my head. 
but it’s almost as if creating things fills up the void in my heart created by my desire to create, in this weird self-replenishing cycle.

so then i start to understand why so many people take the safe road.

i talk to friends, family and acquaintances, noticing patterns such as how we only ever talk through lines but never read in between them, and i find it funny especially because it’s in our blood to crave being understood; and then i think of how each and every of their lives is just as vivid and complex as my own- there’s a word for it- sonder. 

maybe art will be a way for us to truly connect with each other, to fill the void in our souls when we need it the most, to be genuinely understood and resonate with one another.

i don’t think anyone wants a stable life really- we all want to live out the most vivid lives we can- but most of us run out of ideas, or are afraid to take that risk in fear of failure - and i can’t tell you how many times i’ve almost fallen down this hole myself.

but if we want to live out a purposeful life, we must be fearlessly pertinent in chasing what we want.

and that’s why i’ll let it kill me if that’s the price i must pay to create something that actually means something. something that stands out among a sea of realistic works of art, no matter how detailed or impressive they are. and maybe i’ll never be as great as the greats, or maybe they’ll never hang my art up in museums, or maybe not a lot of people will come along and tell me they understand and resonate with my work. and maybe all the critics and the skeptics will come along and discredit my work, or say it isn’t enough. but that’s not what i’m living for.. so i’ll keep trying because i want to at least know that i gave it my all.

so while i watch everyone go on and paint out their stable lives, i guess i’ll just continue sitting here waiting
waiting 
waiting
for a great idea to strike.