Why I Write.

Part of arts magic seems to come from an allowance to be vulnerable and limiting ones vulnerability with oneself seems to be selfish, fruitless and apathetic. So, here is me leaving my artworks bare, to be seen by you.

I was in a seminar a couple of years ago and the tutor asked the class, ‘why do you write?’ I was three years into a Writing and Publishing degree and I felt like an imposter and a fraud. I wrote in my notebook, 

“I write because there is a bumble and jumble of thoughts that bounce and swirl within my mind. Words, sentences, sounds and images. I believe that if these thoughts are not transcribed onto paper, they dissipate, lost to a void. There's a yearning to immortalise the essence of moments, to preserve the sensations, tastes, and sounds that define them. Sometimes I find good ideas beneath the ramble and sporadic lines.

The process of nurturing these ideas into a coherent narrative is where my passion ignites. These stories, born from the fragments of moments, breathe life into my desire for beauty in expression. It's an attempt to weave something profound from the tapestry of fleeting thoughts—an attempt to create stories that resonate with the prettiness inherent in the initial spark of an idea.”

And I guess I kinda like what I wrote:)