when life is too ugly to make art about

a real black cat and me

when life is too ugly to make art about, what can you do, except, failing to die; wait?

art is meant to make the hard parts of life bearably poetic; at least, carry-able. like wrapping something dark and amorphous in a silken cloth. or in handmade paper. then, at least, you can hold it. it is no longer a shapeless monster shoved in the closet. it won’t eat you — or at least, if it tries to, you will know how to tame it. again and again.

all this to say, these last few months, i found a truer, new low. it is like finding a truer color of black. was that black true black? no, this black is truer — i did not know black until i found this black. i did not know despair until recently, when it was given to me in a jewelled box. and now i have to hold it.

for almost two months, i have not been able to do anything other than lay face up and wish to die. i’m still terrible, but much better. i’m ready to make art again. to form containers and some nice wrapping paper for this darkness. and, i’m in istanbul. hello, ruins of empires.