Why do I make art?

A little girl sits in the grass, feels the sun on her skin and wonders why she is here.

I am starting to think about the ways that my writing could be bigger. I don’t really want it to be divorced from the personal, in an attempt to make it seem more legitimized by a detached third person narrative. I am not an article writer.

But I do want to explore how my perspective can grow to encompass all of my dreams for a better world. I have many.

I think they will make themselves known over time, because I feel like existing in this world is inherently intertwined in the ways the world is crushing you. The workings of oppression and politics, and of course money.

My perspectives are shaped by my relationship to money, and the system that it runs on. And so, my struggles, my triumphs, my “Making it” is all wrapped up in this too. I cannot speak about my journey and my art without speaking about the politics of existing under capitalism. I can’t speak on my experiences without acknowledging the ways oppression operates against me and through me.

My life has been a series of phases of learning and objecting to the injustices that support our current society. Sometimes, I am able to block it out, but it’s a privilege to do so, and I do so less and less these days. It’s harder and harder to look away.

I don’t want to look away.

But then comes the question; “What can I do?”

And the answer feels like everything and nothing. Stopping the madness feels impossible, but contributing to community and changing the world feels doable. Easy, even. Who are you? Who am I? How can we help each other?

If they build walls around us, how can we tear them down? We can look out for each other.

I can start by not calling the work that I do “content” because I am not a consumable. Because it needs to mean something more than that. I am not a vehicle for pushing advertisements onto others.

And the work that I do is meaningful because I made it. I am sharing a piece of myself with the world, and when you see it I hope you feel seen too.

It’s okay if the art doesn’t always feel heavy. It’s not meant to be serious at all times. Sometimes joy can be had with silly, beautiful, raunchy, or unfinished art. It enriches the art it exists around. It reflects all the planes of the human mind, which is varied and changing and craves variety.

Art is an act of love. From the artist to the world, from the artist to a single human, to your friends, family, to a stranger continents away. It says, I see you. I hear you. It latches onto your psyche and resonates. Here, let me show you something good.

In doing this, I am reaching inside myself to say hello to an old friend. I haven’t kept in touch the way I should have. Too many barriers, too much time getting in the way of me seeing me. Writing this is reminding me why I loved this so much. Connection to self, and through self, connection to the world. You can feel it, can’t you?

I’m going to go forward and build this relationship to myself, and break down all the shame and doubt and confusion that kept me from this for so many years.

It’s time to create.