My personal relationship with art remains a bit tense. Whether it’s painting, drawing, music, poetry, or short stories - across the board - I feel the same.

The first problem is: I like doing way too many things together. In a moment of creative surge, I don’t know if I want to doodle, use paint, make digital art, write a verse about it, or start a new series of Instagram posts. Channelling that spark into the ‘right’ medium becomes frustrating.

The second problem is: I’m fairly good at quite a few of them, but not a master of any. With my head split in so many different directions, I never spent the time to work on any of these skills with focus. So, whenever I start doing anything, I feel my lack of expertise and knowledge about it.

The third problem is: I can’t eliminate the presence of the eventual audience from my mind. When I put pen to paper (or brush to paper), I am looking at it from the lens of an outsider and how they will perceive it. So much so that it interferes with my desired expression. What phrase would have more of a punch? Which colour would incite awe? Do I even want to make my art public? What significance does it have if I don’t? Does it still make me a writer or a painter if it remains in my drawer forever?

And then the final problem: under the weight of all these questions, the creative surge subsides. The fire in my fingers dwindles. And in that demise, the page remains empty.

Under the weight of all these questions, the creative surge subsides. The fire in my fingers dwindles. And in that demise, the page remains empty.

The funny thing is, as I am writing this (which in my mind is playing out like a conversation with you, the reader), the real problem is quite obvious to me. I just don’t make art frequently enough to understand my personal relationship with it. Every time I want to, I let doubt take the driver’s seat and postpone creating something for a better day. By the time I reach that moment of creation, which is often months later, the pent-up questions and mental chatter have gained weight.

As a result, creating art has been associated with this heavy feeling in my temples. It’s a contentious territory that I don’t enjoy as much as I used to.

I won’t sit here and pretend I am an art guru, but I keep finding out that making art more frequently regardless of how I feel keeps the surface scratched. It’s the one itch you can keep scratching without catastrophic results. It paves the way for mental clarity that someone like me craves in a moment of creation.

The common misconception, in my personal universe at least, is that motivation, passion and clarity are pre-conditions for one to take the first step. But my personal relationship with my work is not something I can figure out and analyse in my head without actually making something. In fact, I can only understand it if I go through the process and through that I not only create art but the motivation, passion and clarity as well.

Those aren’t pre-conditions but the eventual outcome itself.

Which is why, tonight, in the spirit of writing this, I will decidedly take out my long-bought set of paints and brushes, scratch more of this itch, and part the clouds hogging my way.

The author is a freelance content writer