Deep down in my brain there is a voice who tells me to write. And by writing I don't mean just writing whatever, because I do that every day. I write in my diary, I write to my friends, I write ideas and thoughts... What this tiny voice means is to Write. To tell stories that have been heard, to tell lives that have been dreamt, to explore the dark secrects of the mind, to cry out tears, to laugh out funny moments, to express the view on the world I see from my eyes. To play and direct all that drama in my head.
It's difficult to confront the blank page. It's much easier to do everything else but that. We do different things to distract ourselves. We make ourseves busy. We do this, we do that, we eat, we drink, we go around, we loose time. We don't want to hear what is calling us.
Because when you do your art, the one that is the most yours, it's like being naked in front of the people. And maybe it wouldn't even be so shameful if it were just other people. But when you are about to expose your true self in front of someone you really care about, like your family? What if it's completely out of their perception of you?
When I have a piece of paper and a pen, I write. This is what comes out naturally. I love to paint, but it's not my first impulse. I remember when I was eleven years old, I got my first diary. I treated it like it was sacred. It was a perfect tool to put out what I had in my mind and to remembered what really happened. I was always afraid that some day I won't be able to recognize what happened in reality and what in my head. From this need thousands of written pages have been born. My diary was my safe tree house.
When I was reading books I always said: one day I'll write one. I also started, many of them, but in the end I never finished one. Then you grow up and you suddenly see that the world is different than you expected. It's big and you can lose yourself very easy.
I started to crave for some directions. Where do I belong? Where am I going?
I started buying self help books and books about creativity, about art and life.
In the book of Neil Gaiman speech I read this: the moment you feel that you are exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exist on the inside, showing too much of yourself: that's the moment you may be starting to get it right.
This is why so many artists are blocked. Because art is about revealing everything, exposing your weaknessess, your dark secrets, your fears and desires. With every word you strip off another piece until you are naked. We are covered by enormous amoutns of layers, masks, and we are frightened to death to go bare. Because we know that bare is vulnerable. Bare is bad, ugly, unknown even to ourselves, so we want to shut is up. Cover yourself, said God to Adam. Cover yourself, says Prada now. Be beautiful, be perfect. Do masterpieces, all other is a bunch of crap.
It's the courage you need, and some good friends that believe in you. To whom you matter. With whom you don't feel just like another number of people living in this earth. Friends that know why it hurts and that always will. Every day is a new battle versus our inner censor.
This post just won today's battle versus it. It's finished. So will be my book, one day.
Do you deal with something similar? What are your tools to go until the end? Let me know in the comments below, thank you>!
March 24, 2014
March 22, 2014
sometimes my head is full of thoughts
but my lips stay quiet
they don't want to speak
because they are too afraid of themselves
so they stay quiet in a grin
and become wet by words fallen from the eyes
those words that are heavy heavy
words of bad moments, bad thoughts
but sometimes lips are bold
and they make strange noises
lips make those sounds when they are happy
when they see the world with red heart shaped sunglasses
and there is nothing in the world that could stop them
they speak sweet words like little kisses
kisses that come from the heart
in those moments lips are
the most open
the most beautiful
the most vulnerable
the most yours
those sounds are not made with everyone around
but only with the lips
crazy like them
italian version (original)