Sometimes I have to remind myself those things I keep forgetting. Because sometimes it gets so bad I have no idea what am I doing anymore. And I find myself giving up, taking shitty advises, losing my confidence.
I have to remember though. I'm an artist. I'm still an artist and I will always be one. Working with 'love' is indeed what I love and if that's gonna take listening to some negative comments from time to time or some unslept nights or some fights with my dad, with my family, I'm willing to get over them and keep pursuing the good art that I know it's in me.
I was a fool for letting them say I'm not an artist. I was a fool for listening to them, telling me to switch schools, switch careers, switch life. What is a life, to you?
Is it about having a 9 to 5 job and a fat boring husband who has no idea what words like "beauty" or "art" or "soul" or "love" mean? He says he loves you though but how can you love someone if you don't fully understand the concept of loving and what it does to a person. If you cannot manage to understand how thankful you should be for having this feeling, for having this person, even for knowing this person. How can you truly love someone or something if you are not aware of the greatness that hides behind it? Of the beauty, of the art. How can you truly love if you don't appreciate art?
I don't wanna be an ignorant bitch with a heart of ice, no dreams, no hidden wishes, no nothing. Just the 9 to 5 and that fat boring husband. I don't wanna grow old thinking about how my life would have been if I would have grown up into an artist.
Would it have been more fulfilling? More fascinating? Beautiful? Would I have been more...alive?
People say all artists have such bad luck when it comes to love. That they tend to exaggerate everything, put it in writing, make a painting out of it, write a song, they transform their loved ones into this no longer tangible person, their muse, source of inspiration, source of happiness and pain because oh, how they love the pain.
They say we get hurt so easily because falling from the 9th floor is a lot worse than falling from the 1st one. We put ourselves and our muse on such a high pedestal that even the wind can blow us away. The higher the pedestal the easier to tear it down.
I learned that by actually building things.
That's also what I do, or at least, what I have to do. Build things.
They say it's not for me, I'm not a builder, I'm a lady, I should be in an office with my nails painted red and of course I agreed because I like painting my nails red but then I also thought that this is how I learned about the pedestal thing. This is how I learned how easy it is to break a block of concrete even though it looks so strong, or how hard it is to connect two bars of metal that are both very thin... I think you learn a lot not only about cutting and welding but also about how life functions.
I learned about electricity and lightning.
About concrete and cement.
About fabrics and sewing and printing and dying.
About carrying heavy stuff and working in teams.
About making a huge room full of trash, dirt and chaos look brand new again, about finding the elevator key and the storage key and the carrying trucks and the big garbage bins and the brooms and the vacuum cleaner and the works of art and the people around you. About making a brand new you.
About having a client, hear him out, make his wishes come true.
About learning how to make his dream house also your dream house.
About having an open mind. About being able to learn.
About dealing with negative feedback even though it hurts so bad and sometimes it makes me cry. But I cry, and then I learn. That's just my process.
About talking about how you've grown in this half of year in front of everyone, about convincing you and them that you did grow, and how?
About being able to evaluate yourself, criticise yourself but also admire yourself, because you are a fucking amazing artist, baby.
No one, not even your dad is allowed to tell you otherwise.
It's been only 6 months since I moved here on my own, in this whole new country and whole new school, where I'm doing things I would have never thought I'd be doing and eating 4 sandwiches a day because I have no time to cook and smoke joints in my living room and falling in love and being kicked out of clubs and painting a naked lady on my wall because I just feel like it and staying until fucking 10 pm in school, working, and then until 4 am, working at home, and then crying cause I didn't finish and then feel like quiting and then starting all over again but oh, man, I learned so many things.
Coming here was the best decision I ever took. I feel like I finally found myself. Like finally everything seems right. Like everything I dreamed when I was a kid (remember those dreams?) is finally becoming reality. I'm finally living this dream and it's pretty amazing watching me grow into what I always wanted to be.
Fuck you dad for making me doubt myself and my skills.
Fuck you grandma for telling me I should just come back and study some finance or something.
And you mom, where did you fucking go? Leaving me pursue your dream, our dream, without you by my side.
It sucks doing this alone and also fight against them, at only 19, but god, it feels so good when you finally get appreciated.
Thank you, KABK, dear home, dear family I never had, for showing me who I am.
Thank you, you, me, for figuring it out.
Thank you mom, for teaching me how to dream.
And thank you, Amsterdam for showing me what to dream again.
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