It has been two years since I graduated from art school. After graduating with a BA in Fine Arts in 2023, it was not long before I developed a deeply unhealthy fixation on art. The switch was gradual but felt quick.
There was a certain peculiarity in my love for art. The thoughts, feelings, and ideologies I had towards art felt real, a bit too real, which drove me insane. Funnily enough, my BA thesis was titled “How Art Made Me (In)sane”, and in one way or another, little did I realise that art did make me insane, to the point of hospitalisation in the psych ward.
In my previous writing, I mentioned quite a few times my core belief in seeing art as a deity or some god-like force, and I saw myself as the worker or otherwise the servant of art. In this case, I was adamant on the belief that art is a deity who is watching and judging over me, while I, as the servant of art, am the chosen prophet tasked with serving art through creation. I was fixated, and perhaps even obsessed, with creating the perfect artworks. For me, making “bad art” was seen as sinning and displeasing art, or in this case, the deity.
I did not see being an artist as a career, but rather as a fate or destiny I must fulfil.
Therefore, for two years after my art school graduation, I spent most of my day reading art books, researching artists, developing new concepts for artworks, applying for artist opportunities and even painting. Days on and on would be spent on art, and I had constant, intrusive thoughts about art. Thoughts about art churn my mind, such as about making the next artwork and how to please this deity called art. Interestingly, my entire identity revolved around art and being an artist. I was nothing without art. In my social settings, I would often discuss art. I had this strong conviction that if it were not for art, I would not survive, and I would not be whole. I persisted in this perfectionistic belief that I must create artworks to please art, otherwise the so-called deity.
My love for art became an unhealthy and obsessive devotion. In my eyes, creating artworks was a form of prayer or devotion to art, and I treated my artistic practice as a sort of ritualistic and religious duty. If I made art that I believed was remotely bad, I saw it as a big sin, and I was convinced art, the deity, would punish me and ruin my life if I made bad art. It did not help that I kept getting rejected from my applications for funding, exhibitions, residencies and graduate programmes. Due to my creation of “bad” art and rejections, in turn, I would punish myself by destroying the artwork and, most times, even self-harming. This obsession with pleasing art became so toxic that it led to many of my mental breakdowns, recurring suicide attempts and my wish for euthanasia. For instance, in March this year, I woke to find myself hospitalised in the emergency room and was sent to the psych ward of the hospital due to a suicide attempt.
There were many instances where I wrote for art, spoke to art and sang to art. Everything I did, I did for the sake of pleasing art.
My obsession with art led to my psych ward hospitalisation. I was trying too hard to please art, which led me to view myself as worthless. For two years, I was convinced that if I could not please this deity called art and succeed as an artist, I was unworthy of living and of loving. My love of art deluded me, but little did I know it caused me to be incapable of loving myself or feeling the love from others. For instance, during my depressive episodes, if I failed to make art, or rather make art perfectly in my eyes, it would cause my despair and thoughts of suicide and worthlessness. However, during my (hypo)manic episodes, creating art felt euphoric, and I was convinced that I was the chosen prophet, destined and divinely guided by art to revolutionise the world.
It was not until recently, when I decided to take a break from creating art, that I realised my love for art was far too extreme and unhealthy. I had to admit, it took a while to break free from these core beliefs, such as my delusional way of thinking and the hallucinations that I had surrounding my beliefs on art.
Until now, I am still quite shaken about painting again. My burnout due to my perfectionistic view of art worsened both my psychosis and mood episodes. Perhaps I will paint later on, but for now, I will light my cigarette and smoke.
Harusnya kau mengerti sungguh besar artimu dalam hidupku, tapi buat sekarang, seniku tercinta, selamat jalan kekasih.
You have to understand how much meaning you gave to my life, but for now, my dear art, goodbye, my darling.