There’s a strange pressure that comes with blogging which is created entirely by me. When I first started blogging, I used to post whatever I wanted to, no matter what it was. It was easier, and there was a kind of carefree nature to it. Somewhere along the way, that got lost. Whether it was the disappearance of the personal blog or the pressure to write something that mattered, I’m not sure. All I know is that somewhere along the road I stopped posting because I didn’t feel like I had anything to say.

I recently saw a post on Threads, I didn’t save it, but it said this:

Why does no one like my art?

I don’t post on Threads, nor do I ever reply. I think I saw it through Instagram, but my reaction was a simple question: why does it matter?

I’ve always viewed art as something created for the artist, not for the audience. The great masters didn’t paint for other people; they painted because they wanted to. It was for themselves. They had a compulsion to create something, and they did it.

Over the last week, I’ve wanted to write a post on multiple occasions. Each time, I’ve started and then lost my enthusiasm for what I’ve been writing. This evening, when I sat down to write something, I didn’t know where to start. That Threads post came to mind, and I realised what I’ve been trying to write hasn’t been what I’ve wanted to. It’s been about trying to look good, to be professional, to be intelligent. The honest truth is it wasn’t me. I’m not saying I’m not those things; what I’m saying is I should write what I want too regardless of whether anyone likes it or not.

I could easily say, why does no one like my blog? But the truth is that it doesn’t matter. It’s my blog, after all, just as the art is the artists. We should create because we want to, not because we want others to like us.