There are pieces I made when I was wide open. Vulnerable. In love, or in pain, or somewhere in between. DraSome of my work came from being completely wide open. Vulnerable. In love, or hurting, or caught somewhere between the two. I’d draw not just to capture someone, but to hold onto moments that mattered – the kind you know won’t last forever. There was this urgency to it all, this fear that the magic would slip away if I didn’t get it down fast enough. So I’d post before I could overthink it. Reckless, maybe. But sometimes exactly right.
When I look back at those pieces now, I can’t help but wonder: was that the truest art I’ve ever made? It felt like everything was on the line.
These days, I work differently. I give drawings time to sit. I step away, come back later, let them breathe a little. I try to stay connected to what I actually want – not just what I think people will respond to. But even now, the question creeps in: is this really me? Or just a more polished version of who I used to be?
I don’t have a clean answer. What I’m learning, though, is that maybe both versions belong. The raw, urgent work that came from being cracked open. And the quieter pieces I make now, from a place of steadier self-trust.
If you’ve ever felt this split – like your “best” work came from somewhere you’re not sure you can or even want to return to – you’re not alone. I think a lot of us carry that tension.
But maybe we don’t have to choose.
