Us Artists, Man, We're All Crazy

I don't know about you, but I don't want to be one of those zombies that walks along the city streets every day with their coffee in one hand and cell phone in the other, trekking the same path from home to work, from work to home, living the same routine, thinking the same thoughts day after day. There's more to me than that. I'm right brained. I have an artist's soul. I'm complicated. And maybe a little crazy.

But show me an artist who wasn't bat shit crazy.

Van Gogh, Starry Night, 1889

I could start listing off names of creative geniuses who were intense, passionate, but troubled people who struggled daily with their thoughts and emotions, but this is no art history lesson. The artist-- and not just the visual artist but also the poet, the musician, etc-- sees everything, and feels something about everything. He sees the world both in its specific details, and as it functions as a whole. While the city-strolling zombie may often see only what lies in front of it through its rose coloured glasses, the artist sees the world in high definition, and with countless perspectives all at once.

Emily Carr, Tree in Autumn

I think that is why a lot of artists are so melancholy and sentimental, because they see the world in all of its natural beauty and its ugliness. Who else, aside from maybe a wide-eyed child, notices the myriad of colours in a pigeons plumage? Who else drives through the countryside and admires the perfect composition of its landscape, and the way the setting sun bathes everything in gold? Who else even cares?

It becomes frustrating at times, the feeling that no one else sees the world the way you do. You feel like no one can sympathize with the way your mind works. That's bs, quite frankly. Of course there are others out there that see the same things you see, and feel the same way about them that you do, yet it is hard to remember that sometimes when you are caught up within your own little world.

It is important for an individual to acknowledge their highs and lows. And not only to acknowledge them, but to embrace them, to work with them. I truly believe that there would be no masterpieces if it weren't for this process of introspection. Think of your favourite song, and I don't mean the one about bitchez and hoes and shots of Patrone that you rock out to in the club, but the one that strikes down to your very core and gives you the chills. Think about where the artist was and how they were feeling when they wrote that song. That's what I'm talking about here.

Snapshot of my sketchbook and artist journal

I try to embrace both my highs and my lows. To be honest, my best work comes from when I'm feeling pretty close to rock bottom. I channel all of my positive or negative energy through my hand to whatever I'm holding (be it pen, pencil, brush, whatever) and let it go. I always have a sketchbook within reach. And I write, a lot. I keep an artist's journal (pictured here), a private journal, and this blog. It is important to me to put my thoughts down on paper, especially in this world where almost all communication is electronic.

The bat-shit-crazy part of me needs to be using an inky pen when I'm writing. I need to feel the ink gliding onto the paper. Having only a ball point pen on hand would ruin my day.

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On a random note...

Last week I was having one of those days and went to a parc nearby to relax for a bit. I had a nice view of the skyline, the sun was setting, the weather was gorgeous.

I was plopped down on the grass, listening to some music and drawing in my sketchbook, when I turned around and three foxes were right behind me. They were sneaking up on me, scoping me out.

I wonder how close they would have gotten if I hadn't turned around. That spooked them, so they scampered off and resumed their play by the edge of the field. 


My creative flow was ruined, but at least I  had the opportunity to snap a photo and take some videos:

 

Foxes in Verdun #1

Foxes in Verdun #2