There is no worse enemy for a creative – or an artist – than themselves. Today’s world is defined by numbers, algorithms, and expectations. Expression has been reduced to instant creation – fifteen seconds in which we must prove ourselves worthy of a heart-shaped click. We’ve turned our creative impulses into a conveyor belt of ideas, manufactured in repetition, labeled with trending tags.

But the most painful truth is that expectation is the killer of creation. Rushing, forcing, and pushing ideas too fast leads to the burnout of the soul. And it isn’t only external expectations or society’s rigid definition of success – we internalise those pressures, too. We measure ourselves against ideals shaped by a world that rewards predictability over authenticity, efficiency over essence.

How many times have we been told to study “something useful”? Something like law or medicine, as if creativity is some luxury, a foolish whim. Yet every day we seek beauty: in music, in films, in theatre, in photographs that make memory visible. We gift flowers in curated compositions. We chase fashion, design, and poetry. We escape the “useful” through the very art we are told has no value. And still, if you dedicate your life to it, you’re labelled just a poor artist.

To create is to carry an unsure, invisible burden. That’s the truth – no romanticism needed. It’s hard. Like anything else, it takes time. It takes becoming. Not only do we have to find the right audience, but we also battle the quiet monsters within: imposter syndrome, perfectionism, the fear of being “not enough.”

I still fight with both. But I’ve learned something: kindness and patience are stronger than self-loathing. For years I sabotaged my own work because it didn’t meet my impossible standards. I was blind to my own growth. Until now.

Now I understand: creation is not about perfection. It is about perception. It is about allowing the soul to express the unresolved, the chaotic, the sacred. For me, art is a battlefield of the self – a way to challenge the world and reflect the descent into one’s own underworld. It is a Katabasis – a journey into the darkness within, where one begins to shed the masks, to rediscover who they are beneath the noise. Without expectations. Just presence. Just the inner compass.

One metaphor that has stayed with me is the Bamboo Theory, which I first learned while studying photography. It’s a beautiful Chinese philosophy about patience, resilience, and flexibility. Bamboo takes five years to grow strong, upright, and unshakable. So, even when storms come – whether from within or from others – I remember: growth is happening underground, even if it’s not yet visible.

As artists, as creatives, maybe we are meant to be obsessive. But obsession isn’t always a flaw – it’s devotion. It’s the ache for truth in our work. And truth isn’t always perfect. Neither is beauty. Both change with time, culture, and perspective. There is no universal form of perfection – only the personal myth we choose to follow. Even in the times of Michelangelo and Leonardo Da Vinci, their perspective of beauty was discordant, yet both became pioneers in their own craft.

So, I choose to follow mine. Obsessively, imperfectly, endlessly – ever recalcitrant to the patterns, creations, and limitations of those who fear what they cannot control. And I hope, in your own time, you too will find your voice dancing in the melody of this world.

With love,

A.