It Is 5 Am. Or Maybe 6. He Is The Only One Who Is Awake. The Weather Is Chilly. Street Lamps Are Now

〜 Water, Earth, Fire, Air 〜

We were designing album covers for a class, so I chose to do one for Dead Can Dance’s latest album Anastasis. The first project I worked so hard on since I started studying graphic design.

Tuck me in beneath the blue Beneath the Pain Beneath the rain Goodnight kiss for a child in time Swaying blade my lullaby On the shore we sat and hoped Under the same pale moon Whose guiding light chose you Chose you all

Lyrics from The Poet and the Pendulum, written by Tuomas Holopainen Art by me (while listening to the song)

This painting is quite small (smaller than A5 I believe) with miniature details, which you see enhanced here. I used tiny brushes to make it and applied the paint in many thin layers. I would have wished to show you the physical piece. Unlike big paintings, you need to hold this close to you and get closer and closer to see each detail. I love that.

I am immensely captivated by early Renaissance landscape art. How they paint each tree and rock, the bizarre architecture, the blue mountains far away, the silence and magic… It just feels like somewhere I know and very real. This is a painting that come about because of those feelings.

Sadly I still lack a name for it. Well, maybe...

Castle of Alchemists, 2020

Would it make sense if I said all my searching has been in vain? It all started with a boy who infused himself into me like a chemical. I had dreamed of him for very long, so had he come to me. What he showed me, I am not sufficient to tell. To this day it has been greater than me. That was when I stopped posting on here.   But my search has only been after he left. Now I am angry for old bearded men have corrupted and sucked from my juicy life sources. I want somewhere to be juicy again. After 3 long years I am here again to be more senseless than ever?  Who knows how long will I stay.

There is a lot going on with him.

Can you hear it? Can you feel it? 
It is coming
They are coming
They are the forgotten ones
They are coming to take their lands back
From now on no sight shall be without their unifying magic of insanity
They have been hiding in your eyes
In your eyes

Embryo Inside a Cave of a Castle of Creature-hood

At last, I have gotten into my own zone of creativity after a long long way being lost.

It is no surprise but I am nevertheless delighted to understand that each person has their own path in art, which they do not get to choose for themselves. Appearently mine is in painting detailed and pretty pictures of imaginary places and imaginary people. So I discover different worlds and I paint images from those worlds.

Even though there are all sorts of things I enjoy looking at, I came to understand that something which exist only in its own right in a frame doesn’t grab my interest enough to engage in its creation. I am only motivated to make art when I have a story in mind. I mean characters and places, not a whole plot. But it is a story, and one that only I know of. So such a painting I make is never solely its content as it is, but has its totality in me. It is a whole other world which I seem to somehow connect to.

I am not interested in things of this world, as in the common world that is shared by the whole collective. A lot of artworks only speak to you through a filter of culture. Unfortunately the modern artists did a horrible job in this sense. They were interested in art itself (mostly in how it could express ambigious ideas through shifts of perception) and produced for art’s sake. This meant that they stayed in the boundaries of this world with mere inventions to rediscover it in different ways. All the play with the form was mostly due to a need to pierce through the rigidity of cultural conditioning. The production of an art piece was done (consciously or unconsciously) in consideration to the knowledge of existing forms, hence the cultural relevence. You play in the same ground that you are trying to destroy, only on the other side of it.

I don’t and will never see art as a concept inside the context of collective life. I believe that art is something so personal, so geniune, so naive that there can be no intelligable, sensible reason for making art. Art doesn’t care about common standarts of beauty or properness, but neighter favours unconventionality. It doesn’t care about originality, expression, inovation, or anything that has any sort of meaning in social terms. Art doesn’t care about what some audience will percieve of of it. Art doesn’t consider the situations of an outside world that a human may find relevant. Art doesn’t even care about the earthly wishes and worries of its own producer. It commands you in ways that you may not wish it had.

Art doesn’t care about anything but its own source of springing that we do not understand by any means. That is what Jung called the (collective) unconscious. I was foolish to think that such manifestation could only happen in a sort of psychic manner, almost without my consent. It appears that my personality with all of its earthliness has artistic quality instead, and it alone can do this. It is an incredible discovery that my simple inspirations that appear absolutely personal to me are actually springing from an impersonal “spiritual” source. So essentially my understanding of the so called spiritual was heavily lacking. So was my understanding of art and crafts of course. (Yes, I think that crafts are such an important part of this whole thing as well but I am running out of energy to write more)

I honestly had such a hard time without this singlemost activity of mine that has always been so essential to me. It surely never could have been thought of as a coincidence that the first thing I started to do as a toddler was to draw vigorously. And during all the other times of my life as well. But I also have a quite philosophical mind, so I can never do something without also thinking about its meaning. I have to consciously put it in its right place in my system. Finding out about and enjoying new aspects of art, as well as making the huge discovery of the psychic realms, I was entirely confused as to what art was is in the past 3 years. And of course there is the part about starting to see myself as an adult who has to take some part in society, hence the problem of submitting to its rules. My mind came to be stronger than my will and I lost my connection to the source of my artistic inspiration. When I was left without it, I never felt safe and at home.

Now I understand better and appreciate its gift more. I no longer try to be an artist, because I know I am one. I don’t judge what I produce but I make sure I am enjoying myself. There are still all sorts of causes of frustration, but they too shall pass.

If anybody has actually read this, have a nice day!