I realized something between the lines I paced in my apartment. A part of the reason I feel like I’ve been struggling so ungodly much for the last two years and walking in circles around myself. A lot of the past two years has been about working through and releasing trauma, including some I was not even fully aware of. I wanted to make things that were beautiful, where the process of taking the images was an act of healing, things that masked this endless black pit I had become. I thought if I could create calm I would feel it.
As I’ve paced the last few weeks, struggling to concentrate and perpetually beginning things but forgetting them two minutes in, and realizing this state was making me exceedingly angry, I realized what the hell was wrong.
I needed to find my origin point again. That mark where I start and everything goes out from there. The influences and histories buried inside. What the hell I am trying to say anymore or why I am even creating. All the things I keep inside that drives me but I have yet to find the ways to get out. The connecting point where the commonalities rise to the surface and a giant web spirals around my head, finally visible and ready to be decoded.
This feeling of needed to find my origin point is overwhelming. My why. Because I got lost along the way and hold all these tiny threads with no idea of where they lead.
I’ll still be creating and feeling things out but I think I need to stop making things just to make them and remember my voice. I need to find where my evolutionary process starts. The overlaps and twists and fuck ups and magic and all the things that brought me to this point in time. My origin point.