How much can Napisan fix? How much are you supposed to cry over a break up? How much time looking at homewares in K-Mart and IKEA are you allowed to do without being classified as insane? Asking for a friend. Artists of all descriptions have this really special ability to dive really deep into their feelings. And quite often the more upsetting ones are the ones we dwell on and sit with. Heartache is good for nothing but the arts. We create the most from our sadness. On top of that though, there's love . It's pretty fucking dreamy and nice and joyous and exciting (and terrible on your nerves) and distracting and liberating. It's also a great feeling to explore as an artist. A lot of people will create floaty, flowery pieces of work to celebrate love. Me included. However a couple of months ago I birthed this piece of work. Here she is. In all her angry, aggressive, agonising glory.
These are some questions I've been sitting on for a little while, and right now seemed like the right time to put them out into the universe. Spending time sitting with each question, and working through each question, then sitting with each answer is something I both dread and look forward to. But why should I dread my answers? They're my truth. I'm working toward being more vulnerable and learning not to be scared of what I might find within. This little online workbook is as much for you as it is for me. Feel free to jump into it, or run from it. What does it mean to love someone who may not be right for you, may not be healthy for you, may not provide positive energy? Someone who doesn't bring everything you want into a relationship? What does it feel like to be in love? What makes you sure of it? What makes you want to commit? What gives you closure? Why does it take a different amount of time to move on from/let go of each relations
I never felt close enough bracketed in your arms So I worked myself a place under your tongue and between your ribs Crawled inside of you. Hands in your hair, fingernails gripping into flesh – Choked by the need to live between your bed sheets Suffocated by you. I swallowed down the words that made their way up my throat like sick, I let blood and tears and sweat come out of me – (I fucking hate running but I ran every day for four months to get my feelings for you out of me through my pores) But the only thing that made sense for us was language (sometimes). Each day I'd sit in a classroom and make up stories and all of them were about you. (I kept a dictionary next to my bed for a year to find new ways to explain love and heartbreak.) We wrote letters and tried to make metaphors but nothing was enough Nothing was good enough for you Everything was too much for you so I tried to make a home for you Between pa
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