I didn’t I realized how strong my need to protect was. I am removing the layers of my life choices and recognizing how my ethics have both driven me forward and held me back.
I was raised to be an artist. Creativity was sewn into the fibers of my life carefully and with purpose. The issue is that somehow those threads were infused with rules. Rules stifle the mind. They tighten on the heart and make it difficult for blood to flow. The brain seizes. Art cannot be tamed or smothered. It needs at its essence to bare the truth of whatever process it’s driven by. The goal needs to be to share the story, not the tamed version, the true version.
My rules were unintentionally suffocating. Everything I did had a consequence, good or bad I had to ask, “Who would it hurt?”. The rules fused my life with others. If I told a story or shared something personal it was not my own because another was somehow attached. Even now in this moment I find myself fighting the frankness with vagueness and ambiguity.
I am constantly protecting someone I love by not giving the full story. I was told, “that’s my business, no one else’s”. When I said, “Its my business too”, I was told it was not mine to share. How can I be genuine while editing what is integral in my life. How can I be open if everything I do is tied to a circumstance that is not my own? I can’t.
I am realizing that part of my struggle to be clear and direct has come from the habit of my belief that I need to protect others. I always leave something out. I think, “What if they don’t want anyone to know?”, “What if sharing my anger or pain hurts someone else?”. I’ve been in handcuffs for years and am just now willing to see them.
My voice; my true artist needs freedom. I’ve been locked in and weighed down by misguided loyalty. At this point I question if I have I actually been protecting others or protecting myself from their reactions. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but my life is mine. I cannot be fully present if everything I share considers everyone else before my own truth.
This new layer in my dig is both rocky and fragile. It is infused with the learned beliefs of how I was raised and where I’m from. I find it difficult and painful to navigate. It will require delicacy, patience and courage. I may break a few things, but in the end and with care, reparation is possible.
One thought on “On Art and Consequence”
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