Right to call oneself an artist & vulnerability
No structure whatsoever!
It’s January 26, sixteen minutes after midnight. Instead of starting to write an already late January newsletter, I should have been doing something else right now (aren’t we all?), but I have to write these thoughts before my muse finishes her shift.
I realized I want to be vulnerable here; rant about my insecurities and stupid decisions. I recently started calling myself an “artist,” which is super scary because who am I to be one, right? I mean, I do make art sometimes. Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for permission from others before labeling myself. I need to reread this piece—I spent half an hour looking for it.
Anyways, I recently read this article about becoming vulnerable as an artist. I realized all the artists I admire are the ones who expressed their emotions and struggles in some way. The article says; when you see someone being vulnerable, it’s courage, but for them, it’s weakness.
“Shutting down vulnerability means shutting out opportunity, something that artists can’t afford to do.”
I feel this deeply. So I’m here.
A while ago, I came across this post, How to be an artist with a day job. I like the article because it’s a realistic take. I don’t consider what I do as a “day job” because it’s not entirely unrelated. Design is a form of art, maybe? But I can’t ignore that I can’t see myself doing it for the rest of my life. I don’t have enough passion for it anymore, at least not like I used to have.
I occasionally envy Van Gogh’s courage and passion for his art. In one of the letters he sent to his brother, he writes, “Today again from seven o’clock in the morning till six in the evening I worked without stirring excepting to take some food a step or two away,“ and in another one, “Then I breakfasted on a piece of dry bread and a glass of beer.” Can you imagine he thought that was good enough instead of finding a job and money to have a proper breakfast? As I learned from Letters to Theo, his diet consisted mainly of bread and coffee. By the way, the whole paragraph goes like this;
“Then I breakfasted on a piece of dry bread and a glass of beer—that is what Dickens advises for those who are on the point of committing suicide, as being a good way to keep them, at least for some time, from their purpose.“
Not very envious of the last part, though.
Still, while a new company joins the lay-off party every day, I’m grateful to have a job and profession that I don’t hate—yet.
A week ago, we got together with my team at Marburg for our company on-site and played Askhole, a card game where you get asked existential (or inappropriate) questions. One of the questions I randomly picked was, “What is your biggest obstacle toward peace?“ and I said something like, “I always think I can do everything. It might seem like a positive attitude, but every day has twenty-four hours, and you can’t find peace when you try to do it all. Especially if you’re someone who can’t manage their time well.” So, the obstacle is my unrealistic approach. Even now, I already mentioned I have something else to do, but here I am. I guess I’ll let the future me deal with it when the time comes. I think I don’t care enough about her.
I answered another question but can’t exactly remember what it was. With that question, I learned that my go-to motto is “life is a joke,” and I still want to get a tattoo of these lyrics, “I find it kind of funny. I find it kind of sad,” of Mad World.
Sometimes you don’t know your reality until you have to answer a random question.
I recently found a website called Cheeseburger Therapy. It’s a text-based emotional support service where you can connect and chat with a trained peer to find clarity on your troubles. I love the idea! People who like to help others can become Cheeseburger Helpers after proper training.
I don’t know what else to write about, honestly. Her shift ended, I assume.
Here’s my latest vlog:
Here’s something I drew recently:
Talk soon,
Aycan