I have searched everywhere
For the thing that might satisfy my inner longing.
I need a place where I can do anything as I wish. A refuge. A void place where no rules can’t even control me.
A place that makes me free.
A place where I can feel anything.
A reflection of everything.
When I thought that I might find that in Art, the only way that I can do is to draw something.
Messy, isn’t it?
A piece of paper is my place to destroy myself.
“Nothing really matters in my drawing.”
“Everything is meaningless.”
That was what I thought.
I didn’t seek perfection in drawing.
I only drew without thinking.
I rested myself, let the fingers do whatever they wish.
I let the fingers tell the truth about me.
It agonized me.
Frightening.
The darkest part of me, started to be revealed.
Rage, humiliation, degradation, insecurity, incapability, inferiority,
My drawing is naked.
Unpolished. Raw. Wild. Madness.
To be an insane person, this is new for me.
Nobody and nothing that ever teaches me how to be insane.
They only teach me how to be a “normal” person.
A normal person who always conforms to behave accordingly, but suppresses too much feeling inside.
I was accustomed to something that sealed my heart’s voice for almost 20 years…
“I need to find my innocent voice back!”
“I need to take back what they stole on me!”
And after I found it, this is really messed up.
Too much suppression.
It becomes vengeance, rage, self-loathing. Unhealthy feeling.
Why does it become like that…?
This is heartbreaking. Really.
This is the most painful piece that I drew on this session.
I didn’t draw this. My heart did.
A person who doesn’t have any face, yet broken and tortured by the distraction around her.
As I look at this piece, my stomach is aching.
Too much feeling that I hid so far. I need to let them all flow freely…
Yes, it’s settled.
I let The Art kill me as it wishes.
