I have spent the last week satisfying a huge creative burst I’ve had. I think I’ve painted, cut, bleached, torn, pasted, wrote and burnt more things this week than I have in a LONG time.
Backstory: I once used to consider myself an artist. I was completely inspird by literature, couture shows, modge podge, conceptual art and quilts.
I didn’t have a focus on one specific medium; I was never trying to perfect a craft, it was more like an experiment with substances and a release for myself than it was my aim to become a career-artist or anything like that. I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t collaging, sketching, making clothes and jewelry, lighting things on fire and taking photos of the damage or running a muck in the city slapping elaborate stickers on any surface that would stick.
It was completely innate. And as easy as it came, easily it went.
In the last 2 years I have almost entirely stopped creating any art. My focus seemed to take a drastic shift towards commercialism, perfection and making things beautiful. But I appreciate art for the opposite reasons. I love destruction, chaos and the void when things are purposely left incomplete. The kind of art I like to surround myself with is that which evokes anger and pity or makes my heart race or my head ache. I get tired and frustrated looking at things that only offer a semblance of beauty.
Luckily for me, my phase of seeking out perfection has seen its last day. And while this creative high lasts, I will be locked in the house and creating destruction until I go blind.
I am constantly inspired by the brand Rodarte and its designing sisters Kate and Laura Mulleavy. Season after season, they take clothing to a level of artistic creation that is genius. Fabric, metal and paper are transformed into conceptual pieces that look like they belong in fiction.