The following is a draft of a writing piece that I had worked on about a year ago. I like to post old and/or unfinished work of mine for reflection purposes, or just because there’s a concept underneath it all that is so important to me, but for some odd reason I cannot add more to it. Hopefully this will distract you all from the fact that I am running late on posting my most recent Weekly Update, as I am trying to finish that up as soon as possible. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this unfinished piece of mine:
As the world changes around me, I can’t help but notice that I am returning to my old ways:
Locked away, isolated, cooped up in a room.
I’m fine with being alone, really.
It is when I am alone, that I find myself at my most creative.
Depending on how the stars align and how my day has gone I either furiously type away at the keys of
my enormous laptop, or I’ll decide to paint my face.
The second option has become a rarity lately.
I don’t paint on a giant canvas, make music, or sculpt.
I furiously type away at a keyboard, hoping to make sense of my thoughts.
I record myself talking to an imaginary audience and then piece together the clips; hoping to make sense of my thoughts
Or the not so popular option as of lately:
I draw random lines and dots on my face, hoping to create something more than just my next Instagram post.
I am not a traditional artist.
I spend hours in my room, creating when no one is watching.
I am protective of my work.
I seldom share it with the exception of an anonymous fanbase of sorts… the internet.
I spend my days staring at a screen, trying to piece together my life because it is difficult for me to do so with my hands.
Some attempts are more difficult than others.
I sometimes get annoyed with the structure of a sentence or I can’t clearly write out my thoughts. Or just my hands refuse to continue to write or type.
I am a bedroom artist…
I draw inspiration from the outside world without moving as much as a centimeter past my door.