Unfolding_01
Not all art wants to be made immediately.
Some pieces arrive fully formed, relentless in their insistence. Others linger at the edges of your perception—testing you. Testing your ability to embrace them without fully grasping what they mean. Testing your capacity to trust and surrender. Art and creation in its purest form.
And then, there is the art that resists you. Visions that come but refuse to be rendered. Ideas that dissolve the moment you try to hold them. Pieces that play hide-and-seek with your imagination. Works that sit inside you for weeks, months, years—refusing to let go, refusing to be born.
This is the art that asks for something more than skill. More than discipline. More than time. This is the art that wants to break you first. Because some works are not just images or forms. They are portals, thresholds. To create them means to cross into something irreversible. Into a version of you've not met before. A new you in a new timeline.
I wonder how many artists reading this have felt it. If you're one of them, you know:
There are pieces that cannot be made until you are someone else.
There are pieces that will not come to life until you have paid the cost of living them.
There are pieces that will stay in your mind, untouched, because they know you are not yet ready to survive the truth they carry.
Art is sentient, not passive. It chooses its moment. It chooses its creator. And it most certainly knows who it wishes to be owned by, if anyone.
The question the artist must answer is never:"Am I capable?" but "Am I willing to become the person this work requires me?"
And if you are not there yet?
Don't see it as a failure, or a block. Because this is initiation.
The art is waiting. And it will be ready, when you are.
-R
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