Yasmin Ahmad's blog is one of those rare ones that sparks something inside me. Her latest entry, November 29, made me rethink why did I, in the first place, yearned to be an artist. What am I doing here?
I had forgotten the enthusiasm displayed before I got into college. How desperate I was to get into any art college to fuel my passion. Any will do. As long I could learn tons, be more exposed to the art scene.
I ended up in LUCT. The irony. Ha. ha. Stop laughing.
At least there's my friends (Collective 'aw' pls)
Anyhoo, I'm very familiar with the donkey story, of how the farmer and his son with their donkey tried to please everyone. In the end, the donkey fell into a river and died. Yay. It's another of those moral stories, that tries to impart it's simple wisdom.
Aware of it, yes.
And yet I still do.
Like a path we tread on with purpose, I had walked on, trying to survive, trying to keep moving forward. A journey changes a person. At the beginning, I keep glancing back at my starting point, but the further I go, I lost sight of it, too engrossed in moving forward. Soon, even the roots disappeared from my mind's eye. Why am I threading this lalang path while peeking on others' path and ignoring my own. What would my trophy look like?
The shoes at the end of their road will not fit my feet.
Now I stop midway. The grass tall, surrounding me. If there's a big rock and a loud drowning waterfall, the picture would be perfect, hahahah. But no, the grass is fine, thankyouverymuch. Stop, halt, before any damage has gone to far to be undone.
Close your eyes and remember.
The jumbledness in my head made clearer on paper. Where my 'weirdness', the ideas, make a statement. It's a narcassist thing, but it's my expression, which has many room for improvement.
I repaid this by following guidelines, creating to my lecturer's taste. For the letter, A.
These grades mean nothing. But it had me, at a knifepoint, because there's always a fear. The fear that the scholarship dept won't be pleased with my results. The fear of letting people down. The fear of being placed in the same category society abhors. The fear that held my legs in chains (no kinky stuff here dear readers =P). Oh apologies, I keep mixing the reason why I do art and my life together.
I know that art has to appeal to viewers as well, but as repeated so many time, art is so subjective. I understand that it has to be a balance, and shouldn't lean either way. Yet I still want to develop my own style because after all, I'm in college... it's the only time I could do things the way i want to. But I still want people to like my art. Meh. Damn you gianne, for being a bloody Libran!
That's all for self-reflection today, before more nonsense starts spewing out, as am getting rather tired. Thank you kind sirs and ma'ams, for your eyes.
(I swear this is the last paragraph) I had a little disagreement with life lately. Had felt unbearably disappointed and furious and depressed. But like lovers after a silly fight, I'm back to her arms again, the warmth vanishing the doubts I have. The fight number? 23948723562357028560286. Maybe I miss a thousand or so, but you know, what the heck.