The Artist, The Martyr

I’m an artist.

But what makes up an ‘artist’, if every human can create a piece of work and call it art?

That’s a very good question, and to be frank, I don’t know the true answer. But I can definitely try to explain my silly little opinions on the matter.

And this is to say I’m not gatekeeping art. Anyone can be an artist. Being an artist is not something you’re necessarily born with. You can definitely become one. And being an entertainer doesn’t mean you’re an artist, don’t get me wrong.

Artists are born and made. And it doesn’t even matter what your profession is. You can be a singer but not an artist, and you can be an accountant and a true artist.

It’s not about talent or aptitude or technique, or even perspective. It’s a choice. A daily choice that comes with risks and relinquishments and sacrifices. And it scars your soul.

Or is it the other way around?

The world scars your soul and then you pour it into a verse, or a song, or a painting, or a rendition, or a performance. And don’t get me wrong, the scar’s still there, but now you’ve given it a purpose. Right?

Sure, I’d like to think I was born with an “artist soul”. But is it just because I was born with an amazing gift to feel things? Do I feel things differently than other people? Do I experience emotions more intensely? It depends on who you ask. After all, I was never in your shoes and you were never in mine, so we can’t really tell for sure.

It’s like the concept of pain.

The Concept of Pain

Yesterday, I was researching the dolorimeter and the levels of pain a human being can experience. Physical pain, that is. Because emotional or spiritual pain would be an even more abstract and subjective subject. Ha.

Is your tolerance to pain the same as mine? Are our behavioral responses to pain the same? Definitely not, and scientists know this. Deep down, we all know it.

The levels of human physical pain go from zero (which means no pain) to ten (absurd, unthinkable and unbearable pain) on the scientific evaluation scale. But pain can be multidimensional, can’t it? We all know about psychosomatics. And they’re real. But let’s not dive too deep into it.

The thing is, some people will say period pains are nothing. Piece of cake. Just some mild discomfort. Some women don’t even have menstrual cramps. My mom, for instance. We always argue because the way I experience my menstrual cycle is so different from hers: I have intense PMS, breast soreness and cramps that can make me see stars.

When I’m on my period, I get really mad, I hate everyone, and I sometimes want to die. Both my physical and emotional pain levels go through the roof. But she never had any of those symptoms, so I can only understand she might think I’m faking it to get something out of it.

But to get what? A little peace of mind? I don’t know, you go argue with my mom (when I’m on my period, I definitely do.)

On the other hand, I have a close friend who experiences menstrual cramps so bad she has even ended up in the hospital because of it. So, you could say her cramps can get to a level eight, or even nine, right? I’d say most months my pain can get up to a seven.

But okay, let’s stop discoursing on menstrual cramps for a bit. Thing is, I can’t really tell if getting my finger severed off would be a ten, because I’ve never experienced it. Some people say stepping on a lego would be a level six or seven of pain, but I disagree. I think they’re pussies. Stepping on a lego? Nothing compared to cramps.

But there’s also chronic and acute pain. And honestly, I think artists experience both. Emotionally, I mean.

And it’s not like everyone else doesn’t. You might get depressed, you might have to go on medication. But what do you do with the wave of feelings and emotions and hopelessness growing inside you? Where do you pour that salty, stinging water when it gets so unbearable it has to go somewhere? I, for one, normally write stuff. Just like I’m doing now.

The Artist x The Martyr

But being an artist is not just pain. It’s beauty too. It’s seeing the beauty in the bizarre, in the ugly, in the taboo. Being an artist is abnegation and egocentrism all at once. You have to surrender to yourself daily. You have to give up, but just a little. It’s like our eyes come with a different lens. We are able to see just beyond the surface.

And I have never met an artist who wasn’t broken. That’s why I think every artist is a martyr. Okay, maybe not every single one. But let’s say… 98% of them?

I’ve heard countless stories of artists having writer's block because they feel so good. Hell, I’ve even experienced it. When things are going so right, when you’re in a really good place, where does your creativity go? It can vanish. Oh, but don’t worry! Then you start getting so worried and depressed that you can’t create, that the inspiration comes back. 🙂Comical, isn’t it?

But I think being an artist is a state of mind. You don’t necessarily have to be creating stuff right now to still be an artist. I mean, we can take breaks too, right? I should certainly hope so, at least.

I feel that when I’m not pressuring myself to create is when things blossom the most. I love to consume art and entertainment because I feel like it always allows me to (pro)create. It gives me the tools I need to see things in a different way. To borrow another artist’s lens and use it for myself.

Inspiration x Artist

Reading a book always gives me ideas for songs or even books of my own. I’ve even caught myself writing songs inspired by a certain movie. And I’d like to think that’s what configures most artists.

We all know and are tired of hearing about overconsumption and overstimulation. We’re all bombarded with a million words and concepts and ideas daily. What sets artists from other people is our ability to do something with these things. And sometimes, it blossoms into some very thought-provoking pieces. Other times, it just turns into shitty art. And that’s okay. After all, what’s good and what’s bad is subjective. An artist loves to judge. We’re judges of morality and life and sanity, but we’re not always right.

And I know the idea of artists as martyrs can be a harmful stereotype. But so what? So what? Like I said, we all experience things differently, so there might be thousands, or even millions of artists who disagree with me. And I think that’s the true beauty of it.

Art and martyrdom, to me, is not just a tool for validation. I’m not writing this with a “pick-me” perspective. I don’t want validation, I don’t need people to agree with my opinions. I write to explore.

Art + Contradiction

Do I agree with everything I’ve ever put on paper? No. Hell, sometimes I’m reading a thread on Twitter and I agree with all sides of the comments, even if they’re totally opposite. I’m a walking contradiction, so what? Aren’t we all? Then why can't art be contradictory sometimes?

I make art simply to connect with myself, and if that ends up helping someone or shining a light into somebody’s life, then great. Isn’t that the true purpose of art, after all?

The artist is self-centered. We always create from a personal, subjective, almost egomaniacal point of view. We place ourselves on a pedestal, above everything and everyone. And then it collapses. Every little brick of our beloved wall begins to crumble.

Then we hate ourselves, we hate our art. We think we’re less than everyone and everything. And then we reconstruct. Making art is about constructing and deconstructing and reconstructing.

It’s about loving and hating yourself and the world around you.

Yes, it is about pain, but it can also be about joy.

I don’t know if I’ve found that place quite yet, but I’m on my way to finding it.

Being human is a part of being an artist, and being an artist is part of being human. We all know life imitates art and the other way around and blah blah blah.

But to call yourself an artist is about the sacrifices you make for your art. And I truly believe every artist is like a messiah. Or, in order not to fall into the egomaniacal artist stereotype that I’ve just discussed… a messenger.

The Messenger

We’re here to deliver a message, and it doesn’t matter how good or bad it is. We’re here for the truths and the lies and the beautiful and the ugly and the rot.

I don’t necessarily believe my art is innate to me. To be very honest, I don’t know where it comes from. Pain? Maybe. Life? Definitely. It just comes. It always does. And sometimes I can’t stop it. Words write themselves like invisible ink coming to life. I lend my hand to the story and it creates itself.

Characters have their own way of getting through situations, and I don’t think every author necessarily knows what’s going to happen. At least, not always. Sometimes, a character just does what it wants to do, and even the writer can get shocked.

I’ve said once and I’ll say it again: to me, creating art is like a psychographic of the soul. I don’t know where it comes from, I don’t even know if it comes from me. But it’s coming from somewhere, and I’m the vessel.

And the vessel doesn’t have to suffer, but it does. Because when so many ideas are pouring out of you, how does it feel? Good and bad and incredible and scary all at once.

An artist, to me, is someone who works from and towards mental and moral anguish. But don’t get me wrong: it doesn’t mean we have to torture ourselves.

We certainly do at times, but doesn’t everyone?

A Life of Art

Being alive is simply going through time knowing that joy and suffering will come, each in their respective moments on this rollercoaster we call life.

And, to me, being an artist is simply choosing to do something and pass on the message when these feelings arise.

In the end, we’re all connected. And works of art are what help us uncover our souls and what makes us collectively human.