~editors note~ I wrote this last week and it sat in our members only area for a week because I am a dingle dongle! Here for your eyes now šš„°
I forgot I was an artist last week. I forget I am an artist everyweek. I sat down to write an essay and I wrote a play. I sit down to write voice over for a tik tok and I write a short film. Not to say essays and tik tok are not art but that I didnāt set off to make art and when my fingers touched a key board and made art I was surprised at the results. Like Midas if i touch it it becomes art.
Marlee Grace said on
that they wonder about thinking on the form of an essay each week and while I desire to maybe only think in essays and poetry what is mine is very few and I never dream of it to be mine for long. Good or bad I am not to say ā and I donāt think that binary exists in art but it does float across my human mind.I spend most days on earth trying. Trying to show up. Trying to share. Trying to fall. Trying to forget. Trying to Love. Trying to lead. Trying to just keep trying.
I forget that I am a writer. I make poetry and forget how to string sentences along. I forget that I am an artist. I spend to long in a speardsheet I forget that the world I come from is non-linear. I forget that I am human getting sucked into a void so long i foeget to take a breath. Like I am concentrating to prove myself I donāt need to be human to live. I forget that I ever even tried in the first place dismissing all efforts as āuselessā until I am just a pile of exsuses and apologies I hand out to everyone but myself. Oh sorry I am so late. Oh sorry I look this way. Sorry I am here. Sorry I am not there. Sorry this isnāt for you. Sorry all of this is.
This apology of thinking is compounded by the amount that I ādoā or ābeā or āamā. There is shame in not fitting into a box that someone can pick up and carry to the cash register.
The practise of pulling off the apology like a cloak dragging behind me. The more i try, the more I remember. The more multihyphenate creator I embody the more I uncover.Ā
Walking makes me a good writer
Cooking makes me a good singingĀ
Sitting at the bus stop makes me a good drawerĀ
And waiting in lines makes me a good business womanĀ
I forget how much I know. That I am not new and even if I was new at anything that being new doesnāt negate all I know about so much else.Ā That I must collect the evidence of what is present. That if I am not to quantify it is not enough. Counting impact. Measured space.
I am so tired of anything that tells me my trying is wrong. That my effort or highly unique messy humaness (because it is all highly unique messy humaness) is supposed to be packaged in any way. That absolutes are singular truth and I am doing it wrong. Presentable and digestable. Passive income and 10k and promises I break to myself.
Sometimes I forget I am an artist.
Iāll jump out of any airplane. But the shock of jumping only settles in once I am back on the ground. After I write the essay, poem, script, tik tok or 6 step strategy.
I forget that I am a artist in the biggest free fall and I never - ever - want or will to put my feet on the ground.
FINDINGS
Blocking every IG ad that tells me I am doing something wrong. I cannot handle it anymore šŖbanished blocked
Speaking of I am craving more silence. Less inpit. More of my internal landspae - but to be discovered
So proud of my friend Alex and this offering, retreat in Morocco anyone?
A new cohort of In The Roots members showing up for another three months of trying and running experiments in creation š„¹
When Beyonce says āI wanna thank god for protecting meā
Season 2 of Do You Ever Feel Like is HERE. I bring the chaos of asking
"Do you ever feel like you want to be a stay at home girlfriend? Yes ā yes i do.
face in the sun
hand to god
ready to leap
many blessings and big love
xx
Phoebe šø