Death of the Artist

 Death of my former self- the artist.

It's a strange feeling- to mourn the loss of your own past-self, your former mode of existence. In my youth I was artistic in ways I just can't be anymore. I used to draw and sketch and paint. I was good at it. It was my preferred mode of expression. Why then, when I had to make a quick decision on what to ship to myself, did I choose to send the journals and the timeline day planner books- but not a single one of my sketchbooks? Not my art portfolio? None of my visual creations? It's been bothering me..

In the moment I had decided that the words on paper meant more to my memory than the images I had created. Now that nearly 2 years has passed, there's a part of me that regrets that decision. A part of me that can't help but mourn that loss. Now as I leaf through the pages of my day planners with the point form notes on various happenings I realize that the images that accompanied them may have been more important than I thought at the time. The very few sketches that I do have from various points of my life are more triggering to the memory than the words.

I know that words can be art- poetry, music, creative writing. But the art that I created with graphite and pigments was so much more than I had given credit to. I would give up so many of the mementos that I do have to see those sketchbooks again. Alas, they're gone. Rotted in the floods, lost forever. It's a though a part of me has died and decayed. I can't get that back.



I have a dear friend in my hometown that this part of me envies at times. He has managed through the years to hold on to every little bit- every photograph, every negative, every piece of art. He kept the same job in the same place that lends comfort to this keeping. His space is like a gallery showcasing every creation manifested over time. And a space to keep creating with all the materials at hand. I don't even have any paint.

On the flip side, had I chose to prioritize this way of keeping, I never would have had the freedom to wander that I did. I would have been stuck in the past- literally.. just as he is. Yes, of course there is comfort there. There's a sense of growth and an illustration of the changes through the seasons of life. Physical representation of the evolution of self and mind. But do we need these reminders in our lives every day to celebrate what was?

A part of me tends to think so.


But I had to let go. Have to.. even though physically these pieces of my past no longer exist, they've been weighing heavy on my mind. So today I mourn. Today I do my best to recall what I can from my former self and celebrate what once was, and my moving forward from it. Death into life.