an art struggle

earliest am thoughts of an art struggle:

I don’t think I’m adequate enough to form quality words into sentences at this present moment. The desolation of the page intimidates me.
Yet my desire to be relevant overcomes the internal fears of potentially producing nothingness. To leave this empty space unfilled seems almost criminal.

Just like a choreographer entering her space of production using bare walls as the canvas and the human form as the paint brush, these unblemished pages hold the pressure of the unknown and the exhilaration of what could be all at once.

To create something that matters sometimes feels like no easy feat. What if the attempt to cultivate connection fails? What if its too cliche? What if I’m perceived as just another number on a roll call sheet or a digital shadow of a three-second attention span? Is it still worth it? It could be.

Maybe filling empty spaces with color and light is significant because it doesn’t ask for anything in return. Maybe art can just be.

God didn’t ask for Adam’s approval on the 7th day. He knew it was good. It all existed in its goodness. Maybe the voids of what could be don’t have to be relevant. Maybe the act of creation is relevant enough.