You enter a paradox of creativity, of knowing that the thing is nowhere near ‘finished’, but not wanting to change anything about the thing because you’re so in love with the iteration
The feeling of drifting, of existing rather than living, as though life is merely happening to you and not with you, is probably one of the most unsettling experiences I’ve ever been through.
My battle with sleep is a tale as old as time. If I want to fall asleep, I’m chronically awake. If I want to wake up, I’m an immovable, eternal entity.
What makes a good artist? I think this is a much more helpful question than its more popular counterpart, ‘what makes good art?’
Keeping a level head in the face of potential rejection. Oooh what a thorny topic this will be!
The idea of having something beautiful and profoundly yours ripped away from you is probably the one thing that terrifies anyone in my position more than anything else.