I sit here in my dirty apartment, with used clothes, empty cognac glasses and stained coffee mugs on the light-wooden IKEA table and more clothes from the winter-term not yet stored away… I sit here and read Heavier than Heaven, a biography about Kurt Cobain. I’ve come to him being 17 years old and his first experience with punk music and the freedom he finds.
My mind instantly brings me into a dream of a cottage by the west coast of Norway, where my grandparents live, sharing the vision my dad has of working in this empty, nostalgic, beautiful, cottage hardened by rough weather and the wild nature. The dream of making great art, with absolute freedom, from morning and far into the night. Then, there, I will unleash my full potential and show the world.
And I wonder, why do I put it off? The dream? Why not begin here in this dirty apartment, I have the pencil, the brushes, the A1 sized paper and lots of colors, even the ideas are sketched out in my mind. I just wonder, why do I dream of this idealized place to make art, instead of just doing it here, taking the direct route instead of a fantasy?
Probably because dreaming is cheap, and makes me feel good, in the fictional memory I create, I am living that memory as I imagine it, it is so very close to real. A more favorable perspective on the dream, is that by looking into a potential bright future of being able to make art in a perfect space, it plunges me into creating art here, and working towards that goal, and that by doing any kind of art here, now, I am reminded of the beautiful potential future, and it drives me to keep going.
Anyway, that’s all I wanted to write, now I’ll go back and read some more Heavier than Heaven – until I find myself in another fantasy of mine.
M
What Matters. 