My Invisible Ink

My Canva

TW : implied self harm

I am an artist,
I always enjoyed art whether it was music, painting, drawing, cinema, everything.
The thing I loved most was how I could display my emotions on canvas.
So when I first started doing art, I painted a smiling little girl with some missing teeth.

Then I painted my family, my friends, my cats. I drew people I loved, or important things to me.

When I felt sad I could always turn to my canvas and show my emotions there. I found that raw emotions made the best art, so when I felt the happiest I took my acrylics and showed that feeling on the canvas.

If I felt any strong emotion, the first thing I did was take out a pencil and start a new project. Some were left unfinished, and others I could never find any new space to continue my art.

Of course I couldn't always bring my material everywhere, but I always had a piece of paper and a pencil with me just in case.

At school everything was a bit harder, teachers would never let me doodle on my notebooks. Other kids found me weird for my hobby and I was quickly put to the side. I did have some friends but I mostly felt alone in all of this.

So after another awful day at school I turned to my art to make me feel safe.
But it felt different, the emotions weren't there anymore. So I used art to make me feel something.
It did for a second but it stopped quickly, I did more.
I couldn't stop, I needed this.
It made me feel alive and like I could continue breathing.

Everything went downhill but I had my art.
I wrote, about my pain.
I am an artist.
And my canvas is my skin.