People often say that art imitates life.
I'm beginning to wonder if the opposite is true.
Maybe life imitates art.
Not art in the gallery. The art that millions of us consume every day.
Films. Television. Music. Social media.
If I see one more scene where everyone ends up dancing with their hands in the air like they just don't care, I'm going to be sick.
Apparently that's what joy looks like.
We've seen it so many times that it has become a template.
Someone gets married. Hands in the air.
Someone gets promoted. Hands in the air.
Someone falls in love. Hands in the air.
And while we're at it, when did everyone start shouting, "Wooo!"
What happened to whistling? Or simply saying nothing at all?
It feels as though we've inherited a catalogue of approved reactions, borrowed from films, concerts and reality television.
The strange thing is, I don't remember seeing much of that growing up. Now it feels almost expected. It's as though we're rehearsing scenes we've already watched.
The same thing happens with language. Love songs recycle the same declarations. Films recycle the same endings. Characters recycle the same emotional arcs.
Eventually we stop recognising them as clichés because they've become normal.
Perhaps that's why I've grown suspicious of predictability.
Not because it's wrong. Because it asks nothing of us. It simply reminds us of what we've already seen.
When I paint, I'm trying to avoid that feeling.
If I already know where the painting is going, there's very little reason for me to continue.
I'm not looking for perfection. I'm looking for surprise.
That's why I struggle with formula, whether it's in music, cinema or painting.
Formula gives us familiarity. Curiosity gives us discovery.
I'd rather be surprised than reassured.
We've become so good at copying culture that we've forgotten how to surprise ourselves.