Since I was 5 years old, I’d always had a compulsion to make, but that doesn’t mean I was destined to become a creative. I just happened to like art-related things. And just because I’ve got a diploma in an art related field, doesn’t mean shit.
Or maybe it means exactly that? No, that can’t be true. Who in the right mind wants to hire someone for their shit? A coprophile? A farmer? Either way, I’m not a big enough shit, nor produce enough to satisfy the needs of supply and demand. I create because it’s fun to imagine. Now I’m feeling pressure that I must create things that hold retail value with no real intrinsic value.
I still live to pretend, maybe imagine the ideal. But I’ve noticed, this can be harmful to one’s own mental health. Living contrary to reality is an open request for hardship, but can also be a source of inspiration. I think the problem is that the environments I’m immersed in do not encourage my creative tendencies. Therefore, I’m left creating halfhearted ideals whose force is expunged but misconception. Or, I just create when I want to create because making things when I feel like it usually turn out better than those that are forced.
It seems that I’ve spent my life creating something do not understand. But according this newly acquired paper, I know something. Then what’s with all this doubt?