death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit -twenty one pilots
the first time i remember feeling the urge to create was when i was around twelve years old.
a priest from the church my family attended, a beloved friend of ours, was suffering from cancer of some kind, and my family and i were going to visit him. my brother and i walked side by side through the hallways of the medical center, each of us carrying a lovely bouquet of paper cherry blossoms we had made the day before. i was experiencing an inescapable feeling of utter dread, and i couldn’t understand why. as we walked into the hospital room, i suddenly realized. i was face to face with the world’s greatest fear: death. our friend was dying.
as i waited for my brain to fully take in the situation, i looked around. i observed all the tiny, minuscule details of that little hospital room and collected them like wildflowers in the wicker basket of my mind. then, when i returned home, i began to draw. it wasn’t anything spectacular or out of the ordinary, but it was beautifully simplistic. it was my memory: the hospital equipment, the flowers spilling over the bedside table, the window looking out onto the medical campus, a small helicopter coming in to land. and in the center of it all was the mere outline of a broken man, because i hadn’t been able to look at him. it was a representation of my mind, my thoughts, me. (i have since burned the picture) but i still remember it vividly.
art becomes a language when we can’t put things into words.