What is it to fall out of love with your life?
I’ve not written publicly about my current circumstances because it is too personal and private, not just to me but to my family. We are currently living with the reality of incurable cancer, with imminent loss and grief and bereavement. It is surprising me and at the same time not surprising me how many corners of my life and my being this touches, rides roughshod, treads gently, floods with love.
To build a life, a livelihood from art takes commitment, compromise, dedication, belief. What happens when that is taken away?
Every artist I know has crises of confidence, days when they think they aren’t good enough, impostor syndrome. But we pick ourselves up, dust away the doubt, because somewhere deep inside we love what we do. This time though, this time I no longer care.
A concept, ethic, collection, brand, takes time to build. I felt six months ago, like I was getting there. But now, I have nothing. Nothing more to give, no commitment, no motivation, no ideas. But it’s not just that. I’ve hit brick walls before. This time I just don’t seem to care. Tested by circumstances? Certainly. Or was the belief just too flimsy in the first place?
It’s probably not the time to be making big decisions. But decisions must be made. There are things I need to do right now, and work, or not working, is getting in the way.
So now what am I left with? My life is fairly grim. I am trying to hold on to the moment, the moments, however fleeting, of joy. Build a temporary nest as beautifully as I can. I am trying to preserve something for afterwards, for when I have to move forward. (Have to earn a living). But it feels increasingly unlikely that this will be my work as I know it now. Not because I can’t, but because in the prism of grief and loss and chaos, it has shattered and split, curdled. I’ve lost the faith.
Yet another thing to mourn.