I am fearful of the blank page because I judge myself for what I put down. Whether it is a sketch or a paragraph of words, I feel inadequate at times to convey what’s in my head to what flows from my hands. I don’t think this feeling of inadequacy is mine to keep though, it is a cultural oppression on self expression. I’ve been conditioned to try to work between the lines, within the lines, and to take caution when attempting anything outside of the norms. A Pavlovian response from English teachers, some that meant well while others were pummeled by proper Shakespearian prose. Bell rings, mouth waters, page is blank, mind is racing, and I can imagine criticism immediately. The blank page isn’t actually the enemy or the cause of my consternation, it is the repressive culture that we all belong to that thrives off of peer pressure to keep each other within the lines. Many lines were drawn by cowards. Almost all the boxes were drawn by narcissists. Gods were created to control, demons were created to induce fear. What if I pursued a life beyond the lines, outside the boxes, and laughed at Gods and demons? I struggle with my invisible bounding because I am surrounded by people content with being constrained against their will. What is this “other way” called? It is not freedom, because that’s been poisoned. It’s not animalistic, because I don’t dare try to compare or be similar to those beyond my home’s walls. Maybe it is the opposite of a blank page, life needs to be a continuous full page.
The full page in this new reality requires both nothing from me and all that I want to give it. I could make a turkey picture by tracing my hand and fingers if I wanted. I would write about a deep taboo ridden fantasy if I desired. I could leave it blank and call it full, I could fill it with circles and call it blank. Words and descriptions, art and craft tend to bias our objective temporarily. If we allow the temporary bias to permanently define us, we get stuck and the crowds of comfortable cowards will only ask us for this one thing we made. Artists, musicians, crafters, poets, scientists, and philosophers all get stuck in patterns because we, the audience, desires traceability and continuity, yet, it was their creative spirit and beyond the lines curiosity that helped them discover a temporary beautiful pattern in the first place. We can celebrate the old while supporting the new. This is what supporting continuous growth looks like. The pursuit of new is the purpose of the blank page. A notebook of full pages is the output of new patterns, broken walls, and radical thinking.
Those closest to us will think we are crazy only because we’ve decided to break the patterns that they are comfortable with. Drawing upside down, fucking rightside up, singing downside up, and writing leftside down is the practice. A practice in breaking patterns is part of a good life, a resignation to comfortable patterns is just the dull edge of the paper cutting us.
Last week, I played at my local basketball court with my son. As we shot around I decided to start shooting with my left hand. It was ugly, but oh-so-much fun! We had great laughs at how awkward our shots were, especially when they went into the basic. Old pattern + new approach = full page.
Blank page anxiety is the gremlin of worth, the gremlin of productivity, and the gremlin of comfort.
As I’ve explored before, fuck the gremlins.
This is my ongoing struggle…maybe even my ongoing pattern at rebellion as well?
Hello, I am Shelton. 