RESET
This word is following me around at the moment.
It is pertinent to most aspects of my life, in particular my arts practice, which I have begun to see as an old folk tale, full of myth and make-believe and moral lessons... ... and which is now resetting.
There was a point when the humble act of me drawing to keep myself entertained, in touch with my inner self and literally scratching an itch became a monster of huge and scary and untethered power. It survived by sucking all the ambition, drive and ego out of me and spitting out any authenticity left. It became bigger than the sum of its parts. The practice was in fact built on nothing but concept and projected image. See me here brushing things under the carpet. As a performance. But also a denial. Deluezian folding in action!
I can't exactly see the place my art began to eat itself, but it's there, threading though the battle between outward facing 'Profile' and heartfelt, honest to goodness self expression. Spacegirl, my avatar and selfhelp medicine has been a reset. A leaning into the parochial, autobiographical, messy business of just making what comes out, warts an' all.
She didn't enjoy the process of being 'academised'. The irony of making a project that researches how drawing might heal turned out to be a catalyst for another break. Another break. So we retreated yet again. Licked our wounds. Yet again. And although it might be prudent to take down the blog, take away the intense pain of exposure, I feel compelled to share things in case it might be of use to someone with equally horrid monsters.
I'm tired of being mentally ill. Of living with a constant battle against this relentless pain. I look back and realise with a deep sadness that it's been like this most of my life. I'm colourful, intelligent, dynamic, creative, and yet I still can't stop the disease from taking over my body, psyche, soul.
