What a Work Says About Its Creator
The True Struggle of Creative Work
I believe most people struggle with expressing an idea not because they “can’t think of any”, but because they are scared they will be ridiculed or looked down upon. In writing, drawing, music, and dance; there is really no wrong way to do these things, but there are more respectable and popular executions. This being the scenario, it’s no surprise that such pursuits can have profound effects on self-esteem. Positive reception to a work can make its creator feel loved and valuable, while negative reception can cause shame. As the arts are not separated from their creator, the analysis of a work can become painfully personal.
Then, due to its more logical characteristics, technical skill appears to be a detachable measure of competence. It would seem technical prowess creates security for the ego and is an effective way to distract everyone from what it reveals about the creator.
So What?
The truth is, I don’t want to talk about writing. I know very little about the formal practice. You will learn nothing academic, but you might take away that I am inarticulate and garrulous. Let me slowly get to the point: for those who have read my poetry, I hope you’ve noticed it plays with rhythm and white space, and often has random subjects. Who knows if they are obviously symbolic narratives for what I actually want to talk about, but am afraid to speak of directly. I certainly hoped you noticed and absolutely hoped you didn’t.
How did you like my rambling? Point is, I love seeing the works of friends and people who interest me. It doesn’t matter how technically bad, offensive, or insignificant it is. I will gladly consume it all because it gives me insight to the person who produced it. Your writing style reveals how open and confident you are, how thoughtful you are, how sympathetic you are, what you understand about life, how you view the world, your priorities and values, your ability to step out of your own shoe… the list goes on and on.
I hope that every one of my friends who wanted to genuinely express something about themselves through the arts find the confidence to.
…Heck
Once upon a time, a girl decided there wasn’t enough stories about special needs and growing up with someone with special needs. She also hoped to write a comic someday.
In a way, my comic is a pretty good timeline for what kind of person I was:
When I worked on the first book of my comic series “Assimilation”, I was living at home and didn’t feel comfortable being myself or expressing emotions to my family. If you have read the story, you never would have guessed it was supposed to be about growing up with someone with special needs, as I chickened out because being vulnerable is scary for me. It was AGONIZING thinking of what others would think about me: I feared that people would think events in the story and the reactions of the protagonist were reflections of me. Knowing my family insisted on reading and promoting my comic intensified my mortification. My insecurity became so overwhelming that I sent AHTOH, the bat with autism, away so I wouldn’t have to discuss the unpleasantness experienced by those who have a special needs sibling.
The sending away of AHTOH allowed me to tell different stories that interestingly, would parallel my exploration of who I was and what friendship is in college. As my parents mellowed out with time and my growing passion for dance made me shameless, I started caring less about what others thought and caring more about my passions and values. Both my growth and the growth of my story let me detach judgement of the story from judgement of me, which provided me the space to write more genuinely in the second book. AHTOH’s return to my comic years later happened naturally once I felt comfortable talking about the issues I faced growing up.
And…
In my comic, there is a boy named Lanh who stumbles upon his classmate Li-hua mourning her dead younger brother. After some acts of kindness, Li-hua learns to trust Lanh. A year (or so) later, Lanh learns that his younger sister has passed away, it is her he turns to with questions about death. Although Li-hua’s seemed composed and at peace with the realities of life, the truth was she had been depressed all that time and eventually commits suicide.
The death of one of my characters Lanh’s sister was one of the realest things I have ever written; a planned incident that became personal and regretful reflection when a dear high school friend of mine commited suicide.
So is Li-hua’s suicide. Another plot-point I had planned for a long time that became tragically real with the suicide of a dancer that impacted my life significantly in the short time we knew each other. It’s easy talking about someone else’s pain. It’s hard because I don’t want people making assumptions about me. I don’t want the reception.
Dear Brandon, I miss you. Dear Frances, thank you for pushing me to be a stronger person. I don’t want your deaths to be in vain, and I also don’t want to engage in false worship. You both remind me that giving up on this world would be insulting. For both your sake, I need to always be kind, compassionate, and trying to make the world a better place. To make living more meaningful.
