Even at my age, it’s very difficult sometimes just figuring out approximately who you are, and then being yourself.
As a writer, photographer or artist, you find that in order to be true to your craft, you must reveal a piece of yourself previously unknown. This causes you to look within yourself and examine what’s down there.
That can be scary. The sum of our past experiences and our dreaded future, our fears and mistakes, our acts of good and evil, the height of our happiness and the depths of our pain, the breadth of our imagination and the narrow blackness of our despair, the miracle of our birth and the eventuality of our death – all of it exists inside, mixed together like ingredients in some cosmic chili.
When you create, you reach down there and bring a gob of that chili outside for inspection. Sometimes, lots of times, you’re afraid to show it – to show yourself – to the world. That which is inside you runs the gamut. It can be horrifying. It can be shocking. It can be socially unacceptable. It can be anything.
One of my current goals is to learn to be at peace with whatever my art reveals. This has not been easy, but I take comfort in the fact that art is not a reflection of the artist himself, but a reflection of what the universe has done to him.
Does that make sense?