Pull the thread.
Open to collaborations, commissions and conversations.
You are here somewhere. I can't see you. You're too far away. But you're here. On a strange, wet rock, floating in its assigned spot in an endless dark. Nobody knows exactly why. You don't. I don't. I keep coming back to this thought whenever my work starts to feel like the most important thing in the universe. It usually helps.
This rock is small. And you are small on it. Zoom out a little. Smaller. Zoom out more. Smaller still. So small your own brain can't really hold the scale of it. A tiny you, on a tiny rock, surrounded by a space that could be everything and nothing at once.
The rock will give you what you need to live on its surface for a while. Depending on your mood, that while feels long or like no time at all. Compared to almost everything else, it's barely a blink. One frame in a movie that never ends. A frame you could cut out, and the movie wouldn't change.
If you're lucky, some people will miss you when you're gone. They'll grieve, and then, because life demands it, they'll slowly move on. If you're unusually lucky, you'll make something that reaches further. A painting. An idea. A body of work. More people will remember you, for a little longer. Most of them never knew you. They'll remember a version of you built from their own ideas. And then they'll be gone too.
This is the part that stings for an artist. I make work hoping it will be seen. I want my name to travel further than my studio. But everything we make, good or bad, big or small, eventually loses its nametag. The painting stays for a while. The name drifts off. The meaning becomes someone else's. Strangely, that doesn't make me want to stop making. It makes me want to stop making for the wrong reasons.
Think about what you're nervous about right now. A pitch. A drop. A post. A conversation you've been avoiding. A piece you're afraid to show. It feels like your whole life hinges on it. Like the fate of reality is resting on your shoulders. It isn't. You might get it wrong. You might fail. And everything will still be okay.
Because against every possible odd, you're here. On a rock that makes life. Life that makes more life. Life that thinks, feels, wonders, and paints. In the middle of all that nothing, you got a playground. A consciousness. A capacity for awe. The only real mistake is not noticing. To never relax enough to enjoy the hilarious, overwhelming absurdity of being a someone on a rock, in a galaxy, in a universe, in a who knows what. It means nothing beyond itself. And that's exactly where the freedom is.
So be kind. Be decent. Have fun. Love, laugh, cry. Try, fail, and try again. Make the strange thing. Post the risky piece. Show up to the blank canvas. Do it with honesty, effort, and care. And the worst case? You did your best, you were yourself, it didn't work out, and you moved on. Like everything else. That's not a tragedy. That's the whole deal. And it's a pretty good one. What would you make today if you remembered how small the stakes really are?
YEKTA.
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overthink(paint)ing
Open to collaborations, commissions and conversations.