Signposts
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This essay is link free. Just be where you are. Enjoy.
I’m sitting here in my hoodie and sweatpants.
My shirt, socks, even my underwear is what I usually wear for gammeln - hanging around on the couch in the van. Gammeln is a beautiful german word and literally means to rot. Usually I wear this combination of clothing only for rotting on the couch. Today is different. For the first time in almost 2 years in which we have this studio space to work in, I wear my couch clothes in here. This seems maybe like ridiculously insignificant information, but to me it means something. I struggle to find words for what it means, which is a lame thing to say when you are a writer, but I have come to a certain point with something. And I recognise it because something is very unlike it normally is. Off. But not wrong, just this skip from the regular, it’s a signpost.
Signposts mostly pass without us noticing:
The moment when we step into that new version of us.
No, that sounds maybe too deliberate. We just change.
We cannot stop it.
Well, I actually have no idea what others can do. Maybe they can.
Anyway, I can’t stop it.
I become new and new again. While getting older, which seems odd. A bit like bejamingbuttoning.
The more I create and do what I need to do, the less I care for my appearance.
This sentence might read like a continued thought from what I just told you about me in my sweatpants. But I have proof of why that would make no sense, because:
I am not anywhere near the amount of time, energy & dedication that I want, that I need to spend creating.
I am in a big deficiency in fact.
But today I listened to this podcast (started no content in the internet ever…)
and the person said something along “the process of creation will open everything up” or make it clear or something like that.
It felt so true in my bones.
It felt like I was the one speaking, speaking to myself.
I thought I had accepted so much about the creative process, but today feels like just opening up a new level and seeing that countless levels are ahead of me from here.
I can and will probably never be as good as I would like to be.
As an artist, a writer, shit even as a person. And by good I don’t mean some morally infallible saint like person good, but a complex one. Good in all regards: hyper self aware, and able to surrender to the fullest, skillful with total ease, humble and funny about it, cool, a little bit too good to be true, but then again extremely human when you get to know me.
As an artist I want to be able to be completely immersed, full hearted, dedicated, but not a workaholic, just in full control and in full creative chaos, holding the perfect balance, a bit crazy, but in a fascinating and healthy way. As a writer I dance effortlessly on the line between depth and entertainment. Providing both, sucking the reader in like their favourite hot beverage, in the mirror coolness with smokey eyes and a cigarette, and in bed by 9pm to write in the earliest hours of the day, the center of the party, always invited, a provocative surprise, expected with anticipation.
Unachievable goals that make you hate yourself?
Anyone?
Recently I started to produce music.
It feels so good and it feels really bad.
I feel not excited about sharing this, because I don’t like people having expectations. For the music to be bad, for it to be good, for it to be shared with the world at all at some point. Something about me and not wanting anyone to expect anything from me, is taking me away from creating what I want, what I need. It is as when you are somewhere with your friends and someone says “That person over there is kinda cute” and you turn to take a look and they shhhhhhh you and shout “Don’t look” laughing but also kinda serious.
I feel like when I look into the direction of what I really really want to do, everyone WILL KNOW.
They will know that I am doing something, I am spending time with something, I love something, something is important to me. Perfect. Now they can destroy it. Someone is just waiting to drag me down.
The fact that I am paranoid doesn't mean they are not after me??!! (Thank you Kurt for that quote, which is not from you apparently, but from a guy named Joseph Heller in his book Catch22, which I want to read now, but anyway Kurt, you made it rock’n’roll)
I have talked and read about creating a lot. Maybe a risky statement, but anyways, I have sat there a lot recently and felt (not thought!) that I was getting nowhere talking and reading but not actually DOING the thing.
At no point I have said this essay would lead to a groundbreaking revelation.
I have at no point in time disguised my intention of just sharing anything more than what is going on right now. I don’t even feel I am capable of that.
Maybe no one is.
Maybe they are.
I think a lot about people making many many drafts and how editing is the biggest art and so on.
I feel lost when I hear that.
It’s not that I am against making things better. I have worked on some creations for a long time.
But does that mean I am supposed to always edit and correct until the naked stumbling first strokes are gone?
Where does the optimization of me lead me? Can it be a skill to accept the rawness and imperfection of something and share it?
Don’t come at me with “everyone is doing everything today and are posting it and are not even good at it” blabla so what. Surely the internet is full of mediocre shit. And if people expect to get rich doing that, phew, good luck, as long as you don’t screw people over by selling them shit they don’t need, go on, try it.
But are we supposed to keep small, keep hiding, until we are good enough? When is that supposed to be? In my world the most amazing people don’t think they are good at anything, so they shouldn’t go out there and share what they create?
You know fuck that.
Take this essay and judge me.
Tell me it’s not well written, it has no structure, no coherent style, no beginning middle end, or whatever. Tell me it’s boring and should have links and recommendations. At least pictures. Tell me you or someone else would do it better. Tell me it is just the stream of consciousness of a self pitying artist who wishes they had the skill to do something grand, but just can’t because they are too lazy to put in the work.
I think your first drawing ever can be a masterpiece.
At 3 years old.
Who makes the rules? Fuck’em.
this resonates so much
I love your words and your creations and your soul and I see myself in all you write here ~ the longings, tensions, acceptance, doubt, love. Thank you for sharing dear Anna 🤍