Unfortunately, I am about as good with a paintbrush as I am at remembering whether I brushed my teeth last night. Honestly, it is grim how many times a week I genuinely forget to splodge some toothpaste around my mouth. So, making stereotypical art – such as painting, drawing and sculpting – might not exactly be my forte, however, I am not too bad at expelling some anger from the dark clouds which swarm above my head through the medium of words.
It is quite sadistic that sometimes I relish in feeling a little bit more than deflated because I know my creativity flourishes in a fluorescent light. Usually, I find the thoughts that leave my mind and blossom into fully-blown, functioning ideas through my dancing fingertips will be a smidge more intense. More intense does not exactly mean ‘better’, but it does mean they have more depth, and it does mean they are deeply personal.
The personality of my writing when I have a bee buzzing around constantly in my bonnet takes on a different character. The girl ebbs away and this out-of-body-being takes over. I peruse back over my words and smugly smirk, thinking “wow Ella, did you really write that?” Can I blow my own trumpet anymore here? Go on, dare me.
Personally, I find it easy to create art when I am heartbroken, or just plain sad. There does not even really need to be a reason for my limbs gushing invisible blue goo, I just need to see those little air bubbles popping with my sighs and I am ready to rumble. Making art when I am sad helps so much.
It is therapeutic. It works wonders on my mind when I can simply prattle on and a stream of words leaves my fingers. I find that poetry is the quickest, easiest and most simplistic way of getting my emotions out into the open. I have reams of poetry and notebooks piled high brimming with snippets of my feelings since 2013. I, pouring my heart into something, to create another something, is really something special.
I make my best art when I am sad. It is just a shame that I have to be this sad to create my strongest works. The tide changes quickly and time is just the lapping wave, rinsing the sand of clues of your past. The footprints are physically gone and the stinging memory in your mind is numbed with the constant time flow. I know it is okay to be sad, I just have to use it to my advantage.