It’s been several months since I last updated this blog. Many things have come and gone, and some have stayed the same, continuing to linger like an annoying thorn stuck in a place you just can’t reach, with no one around to help you pull it out.
During my time away from this blog, one of the things I ventured into was returning to a ‘public art’ project. The opportunity seemed to arise out of thin air—a project I thought was long gone from the public domain was once again open for submissions.
Encouraged by some enthusiastic individuals who reignited my creative thinking, I started to consider the wider world of installation and living arts, something I had dabbled in during my youth. I set out to put an idea for a public arts installation on paper. I won’t mention the details just yet, but the excitement of trying to meet a deadline while juggling other aspects of my life brought about some pleasant changes. It provided a much-needed break from the work I had been doing.
However, this is where the illusion of living a lie began to take shape. The thought of doing something “big,” of maybe, just maybe, succeeding and one day seeing my idea come to life was both a great challenge and an opportunity to test myself. Yet, as the project was finalized, it also highlighted the harsh realities of the life I currently live.
For about a month, I set aside all my other work. I stopped building my portfolio, stopped designing for PODs, stopped generating new ideas, and halted all social media-related activities that had been giving my work some exposure. The result was a step backward, forcing me to confront where I currently stand in life.
A year of struggling with my mental health, juggling a job, and trying to make ends meet—knowing full well they wouldn’t—has taken its toll. Trying to carve a path into the art world with little success, or rather with tiny steps forward, while struggling financially is supposed to be the legendary way of all artists. For time immemorial, society has portrayed the world of art as one where a struggling artist, free from economic burdens, produces their best work and is the most creative. It’s an image movies love to portray, and books love to describe.
But from my personal experience, I doubt this is true for many.
A struggling artist is not at their most creative, nor are they producing their best work. It just doesn’t add up in reality. Artists, like everyone else, need to pay their bills, buy food, purchase clothing, and make ends meet. Struggling to scrape together pennies doesn’t leave much room for creativity. If anything, it places shackles on every step you take.
Those who can afford to buy paints without worrying about the cost, who can walk into an art shop and leave with a top-of-the-line canvas, who have a dedicated art desk with hundreds of pens, pencils, charcoals, and paint tubes, and even a nice lamp lighting their work—like the many you see on YouTube—are not quite financially struggling.
They tell you how to work on this, how to work on that, how to finish your work, how to mount it, how to sell it. But their reality is very different from that of those who walk into a bargain shop to find a cheap sketchbook or budget paints for their next drawing. Or those who keep packaging from products to draw on, or eventually turn into a board to paint on. It’s a different reality from those who find a 30-minute break to put pen to paper, or work at night under the dim light of a cramped flat.
It’s a different reality from those who stretch their materials to make them last, using leftover scrap cardboard as a scraper or a dirty sponge as a brush because they don’t have proper tools. And the decision that day might be whether to spend their last bit of money on food or art supplies.
The myth that creativity is unlocked when you have to be resourceful with limited materials has persisted for decades. And while there’s an element of truth to it—being resourceful can push boundaries and foster innovation—it’s far removed from unlocking the full potential of an artist.
What this myth doesn’t recognize is that when you’re juggling, when you’re forced to be resourceful out of necessity, creativity is also sacrificed. That idea in your head, the painting on that larger-than-life canvas, the drawing on that tall paper that covers a wall—they may never come to fruition.
You might have envisioned every stroke, every layer in your mind. You might have painted every detail in your imagination, from the flat tones to the finest intricacies. But that idea, that image, that creation will remain just that—a mental picture. Creativity has been sacrificed.
This is why, in recent weeks, I remembered why I once chose to set aside my art and focus on simply living, though I have since returned. I did so because the frustration of not being able to make ends meet for the sake of my art meant I was frustrated with my own work. So for a while, I quit trying to create something with my art and focused on just making a living and surviving.
By now, things should have changed. I should be at a stage in my life where buying a sketchbook, for example, isn’t a choice between having my next meal, paying bills, or drawing. And I literally mean just drawing—forget painting, as that involves buying paints and brushes too.
As life would have it, the saying that history tends to repeat itself seems true in my case. It doesn’t always work out, and life isn’t always smooth sailing. So, finding myself back at square one, having to make those difficult choices again, is a reality. But now, I’ve come to accept that shelving my passion for the arts isn’t a solution. If I can’t paint a large canvas, I’ll paint on a small piece of cardboard.
Dreams of that solo exhibition, which was the goal for this year, won’t materialize. Dreams of selling my work will remain just that, while I continue to juggle everything. And I’ll be judged for the work I’ve done.
Those large canvas paintings, where I’ve mentally painted every stroke, every layer, mixed every color, and blended every detail, will, for now, remain ideas in my head.
While the support from those around me in recent months has provided me with resources like paints, the thought of producing those large canvases or mounting works for an exhibition will remain plans for the future. I will continue trying to unlock my creativity and develop my work, but it will remain far removed from the images in my mind—those that see me meticulously painting every stroke onto large canvases, producing pieces you could spend months creating. Instead, I will continue to develop, as I have in recent months, works created with resources like biros. And I’ll hope that opportunities today, like sharing my work on social media, will one day lead to a sale and, eventually, a path forward.
In the meantime, only I will know the work I could have done. Because if you can mentally paint every stroke, layer every detail, and mix every color, it means you can do it in reality—because it’s what you know how to do. But you can only do it if you have the means. In this world, being able to do something is determined by more than just ability.
As I live my life, I quietly resent those videos of so-called “bohemian artists” with studios filled with cans of paint, working in spaces twice the size of my flat, with easels and desks larger than what could ever fit in my living room, walls splattered with paint in what are clearly spare rooms. They talk about bargain hunting for materials, yet they purchase top brands, not cheap, bargain-bin supplies, nor do they scrape together packaging or scrap papers to draw on. While my ‘illusion of lies’ helps me keep going, their ‘illusion of lies,’ which is so far from my reality, merely works to portray them as something they’re not.
All that said, one thing I’ve learned in recent months is that my struggles are nothing compared to what others endure. I’ve come to admire even more those living in real poverty, in war-torn regions, facing starvation—where my simple meals could be their grand feasts. I’ve especially come to admire those who produce magnificent works of art and crafts, much of which we might buy at bargain shops or at discounted prices. I admire how some use their creativity to make a living without the hype we place on our arts. And I sometimes wonder, if life were equal and fair, and their creativity was valued as we value ours, what kind of creativity would we unlock? Because if they can produce such beautiful works, crafts, and arts with the resources they have, what could they be capable of producing given even the resources I have?
Now, if you’re asking why I’ve written all of this and what the purpose is, the truth is I’ve spent days wondering what to write about. What should I offer? After all, my blog is supposed to be a marketing tool—or so I’ve been continuously advised. “Put up your work, show your work, promote your work.” And if I were like others, that’s exactly what I should do. But I’m not pretentious enough to believe I’ll gain a following, nor am I pretentious enough to believe that much of any marketing I do will make much of a difference. I really don’t think I have much to teach. But I do know that if you’ve reached the end of this article, it means you’ve read it. And while I don’t think I’ll influence anyone or make much of a difference, I do believe that we need to put our perspectives out there. Because if we don’t, the narrative will be dictated only by the few, and it might not be the narrative we need. Different narratives allow us to think for ourselves and reach our own conclusions about the world around us, which ultimately helps us to grow.
stephenignacioart 
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