A Collection of Dramatic (Manic-Depressive) Moments




(HYPO)MANIC EPISODES
  1. Hypomanic, again?
  2. A Dramatically (Hypo)manic March

Depressive episodes
  1. Love Yourself First Before Loving Others
  2. Another Dramatic Depressive Episode
  3. A Dramatically Depressive February

the states iN between
  1. Slowly But Surely Introducing My Dramatic Mind

ABOUT NABILA  AYU AVIANI
I paint and write because I have no sense of self. In my head, it is messy–unfiltered and obsessive, yet at the same time, alive. Safe to say that I am a complex individual and having a lack of shame, I am not afraid to admit it. Born in Indonesia, raised in the UAE and now living in The Hague, I exist between places, between languages, between space-personal yet universal, playful yet painful. 

Despite being diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I refuse to label myself as bipolar and instead, give this ‘thing’ a space to rest in my heart. Struggling with a chemical imbalance in my brain made me drawn to humanity’s imperfections, such as the raw and absurd moments we rarely articulate. 

This site is my visual diary entries, they are 
reflections of love, loss, nostalgia and closure.
PORTFOLIO

Slowly But Surely Introducing My Dramatic Mind

Perhaps I am a pessimist, a nihilist, yet the truth is, the reality is pessimistic and nihilistic on its own.




To say the least, “complex” is the simplest word to describe my fruitful yet painful life.

Writing an autobiography is rather odd and pretentious and I promised myself never to do such a thing, yet here I am writing a rather odd and pretentious autobiography, after an emotional therapy session listing down my lifeline such as the events that happened in my life that significantly impacted my personality and who I am today. For certain, exploring the depths of my mind for lost memories and reconnecting with them is painful. However, I question if it is normal to look back upon your life and feel nothing but treacherous pain. Yet, who am I to write an autobiography? To put it simply, I am a mere twenty-four-year-old broke artist whose financial worth is minus six Euros – the literal amount in my bank account as I am writing this. I am nothing, a speck of dust in this vast universe. Perhaps I am a pessimist, a nihilist, yet the truth is, the reality is pessimistic and nihilistic on its own.