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  • Zdjęcie autoraNatalia Plachta Fernandes

Lonely freedom

Zaktualizowano: 6 kwi

One of the last post on this blog is from the times when I felt overwhelmed by my creation. Or to be specific - by the quantity of works I used to make. Or to be more specific maybe it was simply about the storage that is generated.

From perspective of time I do not think I used too strong word. I would like it to be more subtle. Not that I stopped to paint. I was just more covered pan with boiling water. Less steam going out. But with time I also see what else was the reason for that situation. In big part it was that feeling of lack of understanding. I am talking about not being understood. Saying that it is common for artists doesn't change anything.

It is almost like a disease, that need of being understood. Why? Maybe just being human. I do not understand art. And me myself I do not understand my creative process. Why would I expect someone to understand... maybe that is exactly the reason. It would be an illusion, but at least an illusion of some common ground would be something. Oh, really? I want illusion of a ground? In art? Not in art, this will never happen, and if someone knows anything about my creative process, knows that last thing I strive for is a 'ground'. Maybe it is simply a lonely place. Creation.

I cannot say there are no people that understand what I do. Up to some point at least. There are also some people who stay opened even if they do not understand at all. But I am greedy. I would like to talk to someone to whom pictures appear and he doesn't know anything more. So many people have ideas, they always know what and why they are painting. Maybe some of them do not know, but they think it is better to tell a story. Maybe they think you should have an explanation of what you do. So they try to bury art with that dusty layer of pseudointellectualism. Fortunately you cannot bury art. This can just make you feel like you understand something. Because it is so shameful to admit you don't, right? And this is the optimistic version - artists that do not know what they are doing pretending like they do.

Worse when they know exactly what they are doing and pretending not to know. Of course art is bigger than both of these situations and can happen any time. But, well, I was talking about understanding. I feel ashamed to do so. Some sort of loneliness is stuck to me since I remember. It is lack, but feels heavy at the same time. In a way liberates. Gives some sort of independence. Something bad and something good about it. Ends up grey. Checkered. I just wonder sometimes if everyone has it's own shade of it. But how one would ask someone about that? World of my paintings probably adds to my gray some different dimension. That SOMETHING how art is made, where from the pictures come.

But does it change the result in the final count? Can my grey more grey?

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