I Want to Be an Artist

There is a group that holds monthly poetry readings. Readers are allowed to particpate every other month, and I’ve been reading there thus every two months since last November. My artist project hosts similar open mic events biweekly at a bookstore. We announced our next event today at this other event which is always enjoyable to attend. And I’ll be going to yet another open mic to read yet again on Friday. After my writing group at which I will read… yet again. There is an unmatched joy to the shared participation in the world of creating; the world of art.

I fall deeper and deeper down the hole that photography has left in my mind: I want to go outside, right now, and take pictures. However, it’s already very late at night, and I need to work in the morning. It’s also raining, and my new camera is not weather sealed. I also must wait until April for the gear that makes the camera “special” in how I want to take photos. Regardless, I have countless ideas floating through my mind about what I want to do, how I want to do it, and the people I want to do it with. But there is nothing right now.

I want to be an artist. I want to read and listen to poetry regularly — every day, if I could. I want to share my work and see/hear others’ at all times. I would host photography workshops, give talks and presentations, bring in lecturers, exhibit in galleries. What I want is a life encompassed by these crafts. For me, that means writing and photography. What I face is a sense of frustration: how long until I would have the capacity to accomplish any such thing?

The fact that I have started so many groups and projects and raised them to become such a regular part of my life is something that I’m happy and proud of. Community is different, however, from creation itself. The simple fact is that I’m not outside right now, taking pictures. I tried writing a poem, but I’m too tired to focus on the rhythm. Nevertheless, I must do something with this creative energy, hence this very writing.

As I navigate life, I find it interesting how my focus changes. At first, it was about finding a sense of belonging. I spent one year struggling to figure out where “home” was after I moved to Iceland initially. Then, it was a matter of finding meaning or purpose. That grew into my first few groups as well as my friendships and the pursuit of my hobbies/interests. After that came the desire for peace: to find some way to settle down while navigating extreme intensity of emotion brought about by new and challenging circumstances. Finally comes today: the longing to act.

In the end, there is no rest — no peace. I found a place where I belong, I made it my home, I discovered meaning and purpose, and I worked through my emotionally challenging circumstances. At the end of it all was a familiar face: myself. The world around me can change, but that changes nothing about me. I would like to think that I have learned and grown and improved in every way. Why is there always a next thing? I’ve written about similar ideas before, and it always comes back to wishing the world were different in so many ways. But I don’t want to wait. I’m so tired of waiting.

If there is anything I would pride myself on, it’s doing as I say. I say, endlessly, to act. Just do something. Just try something. Just see what might happen. I did, and here I am. Yet still, something is missing.

This morning, I looked at the carpet in my hallway: it is framed perfectly as seen through my bathroom doorframe. With the photographic inspiration I’m finding recently, the scene took on a strange meaning to me. How mundane: a carpet. But how did that carpet get there? My friend put it there. I didn’t ask her to. Rather, she offered to help me with the apartment, we redecorated before I moved in, and she moved the carpet there. The story is not, “How did the carpet get there?” The absolutely profound and magnificent story told by the picture of a carpet as seen through a bathroom doorframe is the story of how I became friends with this person, how our friendship came to the point of her helping me decorate, and ultimately her placing the carpet in that spot. It’s the story of my entire life — how I came to Iceland, found this job, met these people, made these friends, bought this apartment, and so on. All told through the placement of a tiny carpet.

Similarly, I have a collection of memorabilia sitting on my table two meters away. Each item there tells a profound story of equal depth. What are they? A stone turtle. A red lanyard. A sweater. A crochet piece. A macrame piece. A stamp-covered envelope from Hungary. A dried flower. Each item on its own is absolutely mundane. Yet each one tells the story of my entire life.

I want to create art that captures this idea. I want art that tells stories in addition to my usual work that conveys emotion. Once I get my gear in April, I want to start a new project. I will establish myself as a photographer and hopefully finalize my “transition” into Iceland life. What’s missing is a platform for me to be who I want to be… what I want to be. With luck, I will establish that.

It feels strange now, writing like this without the topic being something related to life in general, to instead write about photography or art. Here is the start of the poem that cost me tonight’s sleep:

It isn’t rage, rather passion: fire unbelonging. I long for the passion: to ignite within the fire. The fire that rages, the passion that burns. I long for the purpose, to spread forever to grow. Hope for tomorrow. Meaning for today. To see in the night, what lies hidden in the day.

Maybe I’ll finish it another time. For now, I have an untamable mind to put to rest. Perhaps the point of everything I’ve been trying to express recently is this: How profound the simple things are. How profound are the implications of something so simple as meeting someone, making a friend, having emotions, going to an event, sending a message, speaking a few words, taking a picture, staying up, sleeping in, sitting, walking, having an object in a specific location. How profound everything is. Every single tiny thing has the power to change the world, or at least a life.

I can look back and point out the specific moments that changed everything for me. Specifically, the professor who “strongly encouraged” me to go for a walk when I was 16 where an architecture student showed me his $300 camera which then prompted me to buy a camera of my own, thus forever changing the course of my life. How my life then went on to create this community in Reykjavík. Maybe I’ll change the city in some way, that would be nice — one day. But I’m here now because of that. I live in Iceland, pursuing all that I am because some undergraduate student went on a study tour and brought a camera with him, then went on a walk that a professor coerced me into joining despite all my efforts to avoid that walk.

Anyway, I want to be an artist. I want to quit my job and make a living through art. I never made enough money from selling my books to cover their printing cost. I’ve also never sold a photo in my life, though I’ve also spent a lot of money on camera gear and photo printing. But the initial investment here was not the money. It was 26 years of my life. I would argue that’s a hefty price to pay. Was it worth it? Is anything worth it? Ever? Who knows. All I do know is that I’m here. Whatever that means. If you’re reading this, then I guess it means something.

I spoke and went unheard, I walked and went unseen, I reached and went untouched, I held and went unfelt. I screamed. And there was nothing in the end. Nor the beginning. There was never any thing but the hope for a something that if come not today then by tomorrow, but the sun is occupied in its journey…

The above is from the piece I read at the event earlier tonight.

My thoughts are scattered once again. Partially because it’s midnight, partially because I have no clue what I’m doing. Maybe the fun of it all is figuring everything out. On another note, I was thinking how the craziest part of all is that if someone gave me a good reason to move to another country, I would probably do it. Not that I want to leave, rather I want to experience life.