The Blank Piece of Death

The Blank Piece of Death

It's right in front me. Just sitting there. The eggshell white gleam of a perfectly perforated piece of paper. A polar bear in the snow. The whale underneath the milky sea. Right in front of me.

I want to make a mark. I want the male to be perfect. Where do I start? Nothing is coming out. Do I try to look at something else for inspiration? That's it! Where's the inspiration? Do I really want to try to copy something? I mean not directly. I can certainly look at what's around me and go from there. Oh, there is also the internet! Hm...

Wait, so where do I make the mark? Do I start in the middle? Alright. Think. It it me thinking too much that is preventing me? Should I focus more? I feel like I have been through this before. Why did I start with a blank slate? Why did I choose to sit down and try to force something out? Ok, maybe I am in my head too much. Let me move around.

12 Jumping Jacks Later *

Alright. I am pumped. Let’s do this!
Here we go. I’m going for it.

*Makes a mark*

“ Alright, how does this mark look?”
Looks Great! I need to make another mark. But where?
Okay.

*Makes another mark *

I don’t know if this is working. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing. Am I still thinking about this too much? Am I creating this whole whirlwind of madness myself? Oh the tragedy! Oh the horror! Okay, I need to calm down. I’ve been down this road many times before. It’s simple Trial and Error. Everyone starts from a point where they don't really know what they are doing, right?

The thing is. It all starts with one mark, doesn’t it. One word. One Line. Etcetera.
What influenced me to make this line in this one spot? What was pulling my strings when I decided to make such a mark? Did this first mark set the tone for the rest of the piece?

I took action from a thought? Maybe more of a series of thoughts. But what influenced the series of those thoughts? Was it something in my past experience? Certainly, the more and more I look at these marks I made, I can see that they look quite similar to this mango I saw at the supermarket a couple of days ago. The mango was gleaming and effervescent. It was almost as if the rays of god shined down upon the mango through the crude and dusty skylight from up above. It would see that I was in the right place at the right time to witness such a holy fruitful experience. Did this have any influence on the marks I made? Maybe I simply cannot tell at this very moment.

What lead me to use this specific colored pencil? I chose blue. I confess, I think blue is my favorite color. Did I chose blue out of convenience or because it reminded me of something in my past? Maybe I am biologically predestined to like blue by a series of events and genetic markers. It seems like there are a plethora of variables that could contribute to why I chose to pick this specific blue in the first place. I mean the blue was right next to a Razzmatazz. Why didn’t i chose that fun color? The name is so inviting and playful in itself!

Did I chose this paper out of convenience as well? I could have easily chosen something more colorful, but I decided that starting from a white blank slate was the most valuable and accessible. In any case, why didn’t I venture out and make marks on a different material? I feel as if I have been conditioned to make marks on white by what has been taught to me in the past. The color of this white makes the mark pop very nicely. I am not entirely displeased with the fact that I chose this variant of white. But wait... Did I really choose this white paper? Did something else within me choose it because it was familiar? Did my subconscious lead me to pick this piece of paper because it knew what was best for my unmitigated creative energy? Am I thinking too much about this? I would say, yes!

The amount of time I have spent postulating and conceptualizing the why of this situation, I have lost my way of what I wanted to do in the first place. I just wanted to draw. I just wanted to create something unique and fresh, but it seems as if my intellect and my doubts have bubble up to the surface thus distracting me from my original affair. It is almost as if I have nested a nice little place in my pre-frontal cortex.

 Too much conceptualization and not enough action. ACTION! That’s it. I merely need to act without thinking too much. But how do I do that? What is the correct method for this matter? Wait. I am thinking too much about this again. I understand my problem more clearly now. I am getting in my own way. I am focused too much on focusing too much. It doesn’t seem like there is a concrete method. Certainly, I can find out for myself.

Back to the page. I am making this glorious marks. I am feeling this momentum and energy streamline for me. I don’t think I have felt this exuberance before. This magnificent jubilation of unbridled expression. Wait, have I had this experience before? I am thinking about the past again and not with what I am doing.

Bollocks!

I made a bad mark. I feel as if my whole composition is ruined. Was this planned? Did I ruin my own flow? Wait. Maybe this was for a reason. This bad mark has made me more conscious with what I am doing. With what I am trying to make. Maybe it’s wrong for me to think that this is a wrong mark or that something went wrong by me not being with the creative energy. Maybe it’s not the best outlook. I can manifest from what is. I can make the best from this moment on. I can work around this flubbed mark without doubt or worry. Much like a jazz musician. There cannot be a bad note if I make it sound like it was intentional. I do not need this one mark to destroy the integrity of the entire piece!

So I make more marks. And more marks. This accumulation of marks has made an interesting picture. It is certainly not what I expected. That make’s it better right? I attempted to let go in some sense of the word. I FEEL like it worked. It LOOKS like it did work. Inside these marks are a history. A history of different thoughts and feelings. A roller-coaster of reactions within the body and within my thought plagued consciousness. A history. An archival ancestry.

All this time I felt like I needed more distraction so I could focus more.
What happened? Why was there so much struggle? Did there NEED to be so much struggle? What made me have such a creative block?
Did the simple of idea that I HAD to sit down to make a picture deter me from making an actual picture? Was it the mere method of the act that spurred the anxiety and frustration within me?

How bizarre. How intriguing. How confusing?
What choices were I actually making?
What things were influencing my reactions in those moments?
What was pulling my strings?

Was this picture made from a blank piece of paper predetermined to look the way it looks right now? Did I even have much choice or guidance in this decision? How much of this picture was actually “ME”?

All I can say is that all this thinking has made me hungry.
I am craving mango.
I wonder why....

DG