As an artist, I often feel that to succeed, I must "be entirely myself." It's simple advice, but what does it even mean? Who am I, really? And can I ever truly know? The question of self-identity isn't a destination—it’s a journey that twists and morphs, sometimes painfully, as I grapple with it each day.
When I stand before a canvas, the act of expressing "who I am" is far from straightforward. I’m flooded with contradictions, old beliefs, insecurities, and flashes of self-doubt. The creative process demands authenticity, yet also whispers endless uncertainties. Can I pour myself out here, now, raw and real? Or am I only painting who I think I should be?
Being "entirely myself" isn’t about arriving at a fixed identity but about vulnerability, confronting discomfort, and even embracing chaos. For an abstract expressionist, art is both mirror and maze. Every brushstroke reflects parts of me that feel true, while others feel elusive, like grasping smoke. One moment, I think I know myself; the next, I’m a stranger. It’s unsettling but liberating too—an exploration without an end.
So, who am I? Perhaps the answer lies in the questions themselves. The act of searching is part of the art. In the layers of paint, in the struggle, I find fragments of truth. Perhaps, being entirely myself means accepting that who I am is always unfolding, never fully defined—just as art is never fully complete.