Fading in, fading out || Finding Inspiration

Photos by Pixie.

Words by Rupsha B
Edited by Namz

Jacket by XY.

"Spider threads caught at the tips of her fingers again, a sign that no pen or brush touched it for a long time and yet she covets to be inspired again".-From page 15 of my art journal. These episodes strike more often than necessary and even though you may think you have a way around it, you really don't. I won't call it the 'writer's block'. It's much more kindred to what you may call a 'creative rut'. I have sat down with sketchbooks, journals and notepads, only to stare at the blank pages with nothing but an empty mind. I have been to cafes, I've sat down on the seaside, tried to sleep it off in the comfort of my own crumpled bed-sheets. I've went so far as to push myself to create something, anything. I could always talk about unrequited love or degenerated love or love that burnt and wrecked.  I could write about unwell minds and unfair emotions. Those words have been written and repeated and this time I couldn't do it. It doesn't seem fair to give them all the place on my blog or on my art. Sometimes, during these 'episodes', I feel like someone has taken away that little part of my brain and heart which would otherwise never shut up, not even when it's three in the morning and my eyes burn and I just want to sleep. Like you have lost something so precious that you drive yourself mad by searching for it, only to return with an empty heart and a frustrated mind.

"What the fuck are you doing?", "I'm drawing"

"Are you sketching your subject you little shit?", "yes....I don't have a subject Harris"

"Why the heck not? George you're gonna have to start digging around in there, so you can develop that talent of yours, so you can start to use that brain of yours. to express that beautiful heart of yours. So figure out what you want to say and say it", "Harris, I don't have anything to say"
"Find something(!)" -The Art Of Getting By

On Wednesday, me and mum sat on the roof for afternoon tea. I said to her, "I just can't seem to fill it. I don't have any inspiration or subject to create anything. I haven''t drawn in three weeks, I haven't written since the last week of February. I feel like I'm going mad. I have done everything they suggested in those videos. I went to museums, art galleries, read books, watched movies, tried spending hours on 8tracks. I took road trips but I can't seem to get it back. The voice that's always inside my head. I couldn't sleep, mum. I can't bloody sleep!" 

I remember her replying, "You know people, who write for a living or makes movies or designs or people like you, people who are into creative direction and fashion. Even the best of them sometimes produce the most prosaic work. It's not possible for the mind to stay inspired every minute of the day, every day of the year. Maybe you can't really fight it but you can choose to create something. Maybe it won't be as good as your other works. Maybe it won't be good at all but you'll stay in touch with yourself. You'll find the broken pieces, you'll learn to weave it thread by thread, you'll pull yourself out of the rut and you'll breathe in the fresh air again." 

Maybe I found my way out.