If fear stops you from getting into your creative space, it’s time to do something about it.

If recovery from your eating disorder is what you’re after, then you’re going to need to get to know the biggest boss around… Your wild, and excellent, Self.

Living with an eating disorder is like having an abusive asshole living inside your head, it’s lips attached to a microphone that drips toxic sludge straight into your brain.

Here’s two hours of what that’s like.

Earlier this week I hosted a workshop where they had an amateur photographer taking some pics of the process. I thought this was great, finally I will have some photos of me actually teaching. Awesome!

Last night however, I received the images and I have to say, in the single image they sent me, featuring the back of my head (cool shot bro), I kinda look like I’m a close relative of Andre’ the Giant.

I don’t know what it’s like for you, but for me, art making can be filled with moments of absolute terror and panic, even after 5 years of it being my full time job.

In fact, the other night I had an anxiety attack in front of a canvas at home because my agenda was simply to play on it.

We are not unconscious beings that things happen to. Or maybe we are, I don’t bloody know, but at the very least, I don’t believe we are destined to exist in a muddy hell hole. So let’s retrace our steps and find what patterns led us to end up there.

In the name of vigilance and with the hope of continued remission on my lips, every morning, I wake up and greet my Slug with a hearty hello.

We can 100%, absolutely, without a doubt, count on our mental health being a factor of every single one of our days, which begs us to ask the question, why does it come as such a surprise that we need to make room for it?

When an emotion came by to visit I would push it down, away from the surface where other people could see it, and smother it in the darkness. The surface was still, but inside I was filled with an unacknowledged life, and in order for me to live, I had to release and realise all that I had experienced.

There is no magic bullet, treatment centre, or sentence uttered by someone else that will be the missing link between the cess-pit you’re currently in and the glory of the world you wish to inhabit.

The ONLY thing that will see you through from this moment to your last, is much closer to home. I’ll give you a hint, it starts with Y, ends with U, and has a big juicy O in the middle…

You don’t become an award winning gardener in your first season, and neither will you recover from your mental illness in your first therapy session, or paint a masterpiece on every canvas.

Sometimes I run the real risk of turning everything I find pleasurable into a job. Even something as fun and unnecessary as the reality of this little blog, my brain, unchecked, will turn it into this heavy, THING THAT MUST BE DONE that is a measure of my worth.

We were created by this world and we belong here. You belong here.

Imagine if that was the message we heard coming from the news every day?

There is so much fkn ‘work’ to do in the world isn’t there?

I’m not talking about the earning money kind of work either, I’m talking about our western civilization, middle class, eternal quest for self improvement.

There is a hell of a lot of difference between the thought of what we can do, and the reality of what we actually produce.

We all know this, surely???

Don’t be so surprised that the more you look at something and question it’s reality, the more you will see, and the more known, and unknown that thing will become.

If you’re feeling stuck, it might be time to go make some mud pies, marvel at some glitter, and let go of all your expectations… 

You’re an adult after all.

Art is alchemy, make no mistake… But if you want to turn lead into gold, you might have to make a few others.

To question the answers that my mind immediately threw at me was (and remains) an act of love, probably the greatest act of love I’ve ever witnessed. When I define what ails me, be it on a canvas, a sandwich, or in the mirror that life is reflecting back at me, I present myself with the opportunity to critique, correct and try again.