I envy courageous people. There is something tremendously appealing about courage as a trait. And I don’t mean the reckless kind, but things like people who dare to fail; fall flat on their faces and get up to give it another go. People who do things because they love doing them, not necessarily because they’re good at them. In short, people who step out of their comfort zones.
Having decided to become a full-time artist was more than just leaving the relatively safe haven the corporate world and its steady financial rewards had become. More even than pursuing a true passion. It was also meant to force myself to step out of my comfort zone.
I think all artists by definition are courageous. Creating is personal business. And personal business makes for vulnerability. And vulnerability makes for fear of failure or negative critique. (Well okay, the exceptional indifferent show-off excluded.)
The most difficult thing for me is to share is my writing (start blogging, ha!), particularly creative writing. I’m not a creative writer or a poet in my own language (which is Dutch), let alone in another. But… I happen to enjoy playing with words… preferably in English.
I like their sounds, their newness and even the fact that I often don’t know their meaning. I will take them, shuffle them, paste them, rearrange them, structure them, find synonyms, shuffle again, etc. until I think the result is ‘at least’ a creation of repeating sounds that I’m fond of.
So at the risk of being slightly embarrassed as well as torn apart by language sensitive, native English speakers, I will force myself to post a poem every now and then.
This one is about a suicide.

Like this:
Like Loading...