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It has been a long time. This “blog”, diary, whatever you wish to call it, has been asleep for far too long. An issue with the hosting company kept me, repeatedly from accessing my own website, and then I got annoyed and the mere thought of being locked out of my own account again, made me not even check whether it would work or not.
The last months have been darkness.
It took me by surprise as I had just moved studios and had gone through a period of intense self-doubt and had arrived a point where I genuinely could let go of all my past work and my ambitions to ever have some kind of success (again). I was tired, and worse of all I had become really sick of my own art. The mere thought of going on the way I was working made me nauseous. And then, one day, just sitting in my studio, wondering why I even still needed one, I suddenly felt a tiny seed of an idea … that grew rapidly within the next hours … and I knew what I had to do …
And then came Christmas and with it, family, obligations, and a real bloody cold that knocked me out for a couple of week. Nevertheless, as soon as I felt better I returned to the studio, but a kind of sluggishness was slowly taking hold, I felt tired, sad, very much alone.¬† “Grey”, lifeless, … missing a “spark”, something that makes me feel alive … This spark, I have been missing it for quite some years¬† … but the realisation of just how much I miss it, that bitter realisation only comes now. I miss Life. Laughter, friends, wild dancing, walking in a forest, working on art that makes me feel alive and happy and bursting with joy and the anticipation to share …
When did life become so dull? So serious? And then all these young people so busy with their careers and money and doing the right thing, staring at laptops wherever they go, always busy with being somewhere else, all dressed in grey, blacks and other subdued colours … When did youth become so incredibly boring? Not seeing inspiring people makes things worse … and then I live in Berlin … (One week in Luxembourg and I feel like screaming and hitting people … )
But then the day before yesterday I went to the Dussmann book shop and bought real, physical, paper books … one of them I felt attracted to, not really being able to explain why but also knowing that I had to and would buy it: “My guru and his disciple” by Christopher Isherwood. I began reading it yesterday and immediately I knew why I had bought it. It spoke to me from page one … reading the first pages I realised just how tense and stuck I was, how I have let anxiety and sens of duty take over my life again and how miserable it makes me feel … how alienated from myself I have allowed myself to become … a bargain I keep making again and again: fill my to do list with things I think I need to do (or think I am expected to do) as a weapon against anxiety . And leave everything out that makes me feel really happy. Because this freedom is scary. And comes with a different kind of responsibility.
Despite this feeling of general despair I have been disciplined enough to still work on my art, the absurd thing is, that everytime I manage to actually go to my studio ( it is an hour with public transport away from my home, so it does cost some mental effort to go there) I feel rather good … while I am there working and a couple of hours afterwards and then wonder why I am not there everyday … until the next day and the next anxiety …



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