“If this can no longer resonate with me
If this can no longer make my heart flutter
Perhaps, this will be how I die once”
-BTS, BLACK SWAN
The above mentioned lines are the translation of the lyrics of 'Black Swan' by BTS; a soul-gripping song about an artist facing the fear of falling out of love, and out of passion for their art.
Isn’t that something that every creative fears? This past year our minds were constrained within the four walls of our home. Perhaps more than ever. The fear of falling out of love with our art, whatever that art may be. To one day wake up and not be filled with the urge to create, to pen down some words, to see a stunning sight and wish to capture it, either on camera or canvas, to wish to write down a melody and sing, to hear a melody and want to dance. Isn’t that a constant fear; the reality of which would hit like a first death?
We pour so much of ourselves into our art, but what if it stops? What if we don’t feel inspired or happy looking at our past creations? What do we, who have defined ourselves by our art for so long, do then? The infamous writer's block is plaguing me even as I write this. What do I do if I can never get out of it? The dream of writing, of publishing, what if I never attain it, or attain it and then fall out of love with the idea? What will I do? What would it feel like, if not death?
I’ve written more research this year than any other, something that will only increase with time, and it has come close to ruining me. The sight of a blank word document or page no longer excites me as much as it used to. The excitement is slow in appearing, the words, non-psychology related for once, take longer to be written. What will I do, if my career ruins my passion? What will I do, if one of the things that drive me, kills the other? Also, not a fast death, although that would be easier; but a slow, painful extinguishment.
Would I dread it, the idea of penning down my thoughts? Of coming up with plots and stories, and characters that come to life as I continue typing away. Would I hate it? And would I be able to live like that? Would I still be me? Or would that first, painful death ruin me so, that I would never be a me I could recognize ever again?
I hope not. I wish not.
Maybe that will be enough to keep a tiny flame of creativity alive. A tiny flame is all I would need to keep myself from dying that first death.
-Anushka Varma
B.A (Hons.) Psychology
(Edited by Mansha and Pallavi
Art curated by Pallavi)
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