7. August 2014

The artists freedom not to think, not to speak, not to care and not to matter.

When I started this blog in 2010, I searched for a medium to publish my thingies between poetry and essay and diary, that kind of stuff you wrote when you were 16 and on myspace in the early years of this century. Already 21 and at university, I was still stuck in puberty, or maybe it had just begun. During the same spring and summer I had some success with my writing, like getting one poem published, writing reviews for an online-mag and print, and hosting an evening with another young female writer, where we were reading our heart out.
That summer brought out bright thoughts about my future, which were hidden in the back of my mind for a long time. Before getting some positive reactions on my "work" I was silenced. In Retrospective I realised that my inability to write a lot between 2008 and 2010 was shaped by the personal important experience to move from the countryside in northern-bavaria to Berlin, and being confronted with a lot of new emotions i didnt had the inspiration to discover before and were too overwhelming to get written. Plus: I got some harsh and negative statements, exclusively by men, that I wasnt a good writer, or if so, just for relationship-stuff, "nice" stuff-lets face it babe, female stuff. Indeed a lot of pieces from that time are naive, artificial and pathetic. But so was the stuff from my male-peers, just including more sex and more violence.
The false conclusion i draw out of that then was that as soon as I go out and show myself, as soon as i prove that Im a real artist and writer, everything in my work will be more real.
Soon I was heartbroken, messy, and just learned to stand but not to walk on my own feet. To overcome that period in which i woke up everyday lying between a big chaos of bottles and unfinished university papers, I did two things:
1. I wrote a blog entry here every day.
2. Everytime I wasnt able to study due to emotional chaos, I researched about something study-unrelated which I had a lack of knowledge in my indie-music and aesthetics occupied mind.
University, Relationships, Mourning about my step father and the acknowledgment of my writing from big city audience had a big effect on my personality, too- but it was these two things which kept me alive and brought me back to my path of academics and growing.
Still I was occupied with the dream that I had to be loved for how interesting and smart and funny I am, thats why I continued with the blog and thats why i pushed my ego with more and more personal thingies, simultanously written and published on "sommerhier."
I didnt realise that 1. I already was a good writer and I was loved by a lot of people and 2. That the freedom I thought I gained- finding inspiration from suffering and caring about my personal development first- was the freedom of not-thinking, not speaking, not caring and not to matter at all. Except about and to people who were like me.

Now its 2014, a lot of journeys have been done, I received a B.A., I finally did some investigative journalistic work and did real historic research to my hopefully soon finished M.A., I know that Im loved anyway, and overall not dependent on romantic relationships, and I have the feeling due to my personal growth and due to horrible times  I have responsibillity.
The responsibillity to think about actual political micro-resistance. When to say stop. And the responsibillity to speak out for that matter in public. Certainly not in the silly elite institution University, where you can think and write anything- if it comes along with the knowledge of the most powerful neo-marxist scholars.
The responsibillity to care should need no explanation for anyone who ever read a newspaper, watched TV or just goes through the world actually looking at others and not just yourself or the ones who are like you.
The responsibillity to matter or not to matter is a harder question. In fact I do not matter. And the day i realised that "I" dont have to be important to be worth to be loved, to be able to love, to care and to worth to be taken care of, was one of the luckiest of my life. But in fact, only if I matter to other people than my beloved ones, I am heard. Thats why I try to pursue a career in journalism with a lot more effort than i used to put into it. Still I cant get rid of the feeling that rather I should do it than some random idiot.

What was the intention of this blogpost apart from being another self-centered diary shit?
Cause when I was 21 in 2010, I would have needed someone who had told me:
Stop thinking about how you can get more awesome. Even if you arent, who cares? Think about something other than yourself.
Stop thinkng how you can get more weird and playful with words. You already are and thats a wonderful  thing. Now write about something and not yourself.
You care about your friends? Dont mess with them and soon you will learn how to deal in a broader society environment as a decent human being.
Matter- because there is nothing you have to be ashamed of.

And I guess in a world full of misogynie, sexism, racism, islamophobia and antisemitism, there are really more important things to write about than your pretty little head.

And I will do that. Still: Positive Feedback was empowering, too. And Im really thankfull for everyone who kept me motivated never lose writing as an important and central activity in my life.
Never listen to people who simply tell you, you cant write. If you already feel the need to write, you are a writer.
And overall, thats what matters for writing.
And read "Wie gut, dass ich ein Künstler bin!" by Max Goldt, which inspired me to do this post. Being an artist is something which you can achieve easily by having a big ego and doing something seen as a "fine art."
Being a decent human being can maybe never be achieved, but trying is the least you can do with your responsibillity of being a part of the human species.