How often do we obsess over the perfect presentation of a creative project?
Don’t we know that our creative process is…well, a process? And yet we forget it so frequently. We forget in the midst of art critics and fandoms voicing their opinions on whether your art is exactly what you say it is. It’s terrifying, isn’t it? And dear god, it can hurt. Hearing some opinions is the equivalent of hearing the pages of your story being torn, your canvas being painted over, or any of your creative work being burned by the flames on their tongues. It’s an intimidating tragedy. It feels inevitable.
So we sink into melancholy and let the tragedy keep dancing in our hypothetical daydreams. This, I think, is what triggers the process of forgetting the beauty of your creative process, the beauty of all that creative power inside. Watching the tragic dance go on is the same as being on the outside looking in, watching the world go on like your feelings were never hurt, never neglected, and never poisoned against you. There’s a subtle separation between who you are and what they saw. To them, they were just speaking their mind; to you, they were breaking yours, dividing it with unfair definitions of your work and who you are, and they have no idea what sort of chasm was created between who you know who you are and what they think you are. Still, you attempt to leap across that chasm, desperate to return to who you are, then plummet down into a dark limbo where your identity slowly drowns.