The Brain


My brain is currently pulling me in so many different directions today. Normally, I interpret this as anxiety. Today, I plan to change its name to “creativity” and see what comes if it.

I keep seeing an article popping up on my Facebook about how creatives need a ton of “alone time” and I realize that alone time is one thing that I have always seriously lacked in my life. My alone time always had an unwanted guest, and that meant anxiety time, as my mind would concoct all kinds of things… Some bad things, but also some good things.

I have always been a HUGE fan of abstract art and especially surrealism. I love conceptual photography and creating a fantasy world. I have often attempted to create dreams with paint or the camera, and often times I fail miserably.


I have shared this painting here before, but it was one attempt I made at putting what was in my brain down on paper. When I was done painting, I was so overwhelmed with feelings of anxiety that I dug the skin around my thumb nails until I bled. I have never come to an answer as to why I am so afraid of the things that my imagination gives me… They are like gifts that I return. Why do I do this? I am by no means saying that I am some brilliant artist, but on average, only 2 of every 10 things I want to put on paper ever make it there… And then I wonder why I feel so God damn unfulfilled.

IMG_1659 edited-web

This photo was one that made it to the book I tried to write years ago about this daily struggle. Am I the only artist on the planet who simply CANNOT translate what is in my mind through my chosen medium? How is that possible? I see so many artists doing just that and I wonder why the universe has forsaken me… Why has it stolen my voice? Or, worse still, have I been to blame this whole time? (Yes) Has my fear of being judged caused me to never put these thoughts on paper? (Yes) I’ve spent much of my life trying to look normal to those around me, but never feeling as though I was ever “normal.” (Why?)

As an adult, I question what normal even is… Does a thing even exist? (No) And why, for the love of Pete do I even give a single shit?


Who cares if people think I am insane?

Or am I afraid that I am too sane?

Why do I do these gifts such an injustice by not giving them the life they deserve? They remain unborn forever…


I have always told myself that I could never be an art critic because I just don’t have the capacity to judge something as personal as someone’s innermost thoughts, fears, or ideas. Who am I to judge that? The fact that someone was capable of doing exactly the thing that I cannot… Translate their own brain… How could I judge that? How could anyone?



I am fairly sure I have shared these pieces in the past here, but I am sharing them again because maybe they need to be fresh in my mind… Like a chance meeting with an old friend that brings memories of days past and since forgotten.  Why would I fear this thing that dictates literally every move I make? How does something fear itself so much?

Once upon a time I had a system for keeping ideas safe somewhere to incubate. The system failed. No… I failed the system.



Sometimes I have a dream about something and it seems so brilliant at the time but it never sees the light of day. I am certain that this happens to everyone, but all of those lost ideas have started to break my heart. Why have I let them die?




Going forward, I hope that the 1 hour of time I just spent alone with my thoughts is a reminder for all future endeavors. Get it out of your brain! Determine later whether or not it was worth your effort, but for the love of all things holy and unholy GET IT THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR BRAIN!



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