Infinity is one of the scariest things I can think about. I can barely think about it at all. That’s what it feels like to be an artist sometimes. It feels like you have to pick something to make, out of all the infinite things that exist (or don’t exist) in the universe.
What shall I do, when my options are everything?
Actually, I can’t draw horses very well… so infinity minus horses.
It’s daunting enough to never start. I think that may be why many people are not artists. It’s all a matter of practice, as long as you know what you want.
The universe is infinite.
I can’t draw infinite. My sketchbook is too small.
So, I must make the universe smaller.
At least until I can grab on to something.
Never look inside yourself to make art. There’s an infinity inside of you too. It’s wonderful, and scary, and you will burn up inside of it. No, I try my best not to look inside myself. Any time I attempt to describe that burning infinity… I always take it too seriously. No one wants any more seriousness in the world.
Depth comes from within you. Joy comes from the outside.
I create from the outside. The universe is not so scary when you start with what’s in front of you.
Trees. A cat. A beautiful woman (at least in my house). Coffee.
The way I make art, is that I don’t make art. I find joy. I write it down. It’s my attempt to take it with me.
If you find yourself staring into that great infinity, or paralyzed with fear at your own depth, I would say this:
Don’t make from your infinity. Find joy outside of yourself. Pick up a brush, a pen, paper, or whatever you have. Write down the joy. Take it with you. It belongs to you now. It’s as if God left all that joy just lying around for anyone to take.
Funny, this small universe is really the only thing I want to create from.
Stephen_inks 