I don't know why or how, but somehow I had forgotten what being an artist really means.

In all its simplicity, it means organising your life in a way that allows you to actually be one. And I don't mean simply calling yourself an artist, although I think that's a wonderful first step. I mean the practical reality of it. You have to practise your craft.

It really isn't that complicated.

Yet somehow, it isn't that simple either.

Thinking about being an artist and actually being one are two entirely different worlds. But how does one move from one to the other?

I’ve always felt like my mission in this life is to find my purpose.

To search for that meaning that would make me feel like I was where I needed to be.

But lately I’ve come to realise that this way of approaching purpose actually keeps me in the searching loop forever.

In the last months, I believe, “My Purpose” (as grand it sounds), invited me to become deeply aware of myself.

To simply notice what I actually need.

Not what the purpose needs from me, but what I need from my self, you know?

I think of painting as a way to form and create my identity.

Through the creative inspiration that flows through me - it doesn’t only leave its marks into the made piece, but it also builds my identity one work at a time. 

In this way the identity is formed inside out. And I feel really comfortable in this perception. 

But I can’t not wonder the formative effect of the people around us, in our lives.

We are social beings (as it is said).

I wonder though, can the social aspect come from within for some individuals?

Can the dynamic between the person who creates and creativity itself be a healthy foundation for an identity? 

For the last decade, I’ve been under the spell of fear. Traveling through life in a train that has moved me between “I’m ready” and “I’m not ready.”

Ready for what?

For something, for breaking free from this dynamic within, I suppose.

I’ve been sitting in the train wagon, watching the same views pass me by, both externally and internally.

Forward, backward… tiredly wondering, is there ever a station for me to hop off?