Establishing a relationship with life that consistently fuels our creativity isn't always a walk in the park. There are moments when I want to remain still in the depths of an abyss, days when even getting out of bed feels like an insurmountable challenge.
Is the obligation to continue under the illusion that everything in my life is flawless something unique to me, or is it a universal truth that I've often pondered? After all, isn't how we live our lives already directly proportional to what we share on Instagram?
How many people are out there still experiencing real things, especially those of us in the fashion industry who strive to create something, teetering on the edge of judgment in such a precarious field, not to prove ourselves to others but simply to prove ourselves to ourselves? I'm not one of them. For the past few years, every step I've taken has been filled with fear, and each piece of work I've created carries the weight of 'will they like it?'
Lately, I see a version of Göksenin standing before me, trapped amidst the shadows of past mistakes, anxieties about the future, and memories of the past. But I can't help myself thinking about and facing that one question.Will they like it?…
In the past, the idea of sharing these anxieties with others would have terrified me. - For a very long time, I believe the image I projected of 'everything is fine' had, at some point, exhausted its lifespan. If someone had told me a few years ago that I would openly share these thoughts by publishing a weekly newsletter, I probably would have burst out laughing.
But the one thing I've learned in a quarter-century of life is that life is precisely such a place.
As the chasm between the reality imposed upon us through social media and our personal truths continues to widen, it is only natural for young artists who engage in introspection to feel a sense of disorientation. Recognizing the normalcy of these sentiments can provide considerable relief. However, this relief prompts us to ponder several pivotal questions, ones that we believe hold great significance for everyone. These challenges, integral as they may be to our journey, exact a toll so draining that they threaten to extinguish our creative spirit, our lives, our perspectives, and our very capacity for innovation.
So, what exactly constitutes success? In my view, success is synonymous with contentment. It involves the ability to meet one's expectations in life, an unwavering commitment to self-honesty, and the ongoing capacity to create—to keep creating. Success does not manifest as a fixed point along a linear path; instead, it embodies the entire spectrum of the journey itself.
Haven't we, at times, conjured up the term "Nepo Baby" for those individuals whom we perceive as successful, seemingly untouched by the myriad challenges of life?
To engage in a meaningful discourse about success, I believe it is imperative to also broach the subject of failure. We currently find ourselves in an era where failure is paradoxically celebrated as success. In reality, this narrative isolates us not by virtue of our accomplishments but rather in opposition to the forces that wield influence. These influential powers shape our lives through the medium of social media, utilizing rhetorical questions to guide our choices.
When we scrutinize this world in which everything is measured, juxtaposed, and where the notion of a singular truth prevails, it becomes evident that it is not as 'inclusive' as it is often touted to be. The quiet and unrelenting struggle between 'Nepo Babies' and 'Thriving Artists' is steadily widening the divide.
Whenever I lose myself in these thoughts and get trapped in that nurturing darkness, I cannot escape the reality that what truly feeds my writings, creations, and the creativity I put forth are the very experiences that shape and wear me down. When this taxing creativity leaves me alone with my own madness, a desire to create something stirs within me. I find myself shouting, "Please! I am a star!"...
Amidst all these tides, I've compiled certain books that have allowed me to realize I'm not alone, even though they occasionally left me isolated within that darkness, and instead of providing solutions, they narrate their own stories in their own words. Perhaps they are not the answer themselves, but they can serve as the flashlight in our hands as we search for it, making us feel that we are not alone.
"The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles" - Steven Pressfield: If we take a look at Steven Pressfield's life journey, which spans from being a tractor-trailer driver to bartending and eventually scriptwriting in Hollywood, I'm sure we can all agree that his book is a fantastic guide for lost and anxiety-ridden souls like me. While reading the book, I couldn't help but realize how spoiled I had been, and this shameful confrontation happened one midnight in front of the mirror. When I straightened up from where I was sitting, I desperately wanted to escape from the reality of what I had been complaining about, but it was too late. We had finally come face to face.
Steven narrates his experiences of the challenges of being a writer in his book. He hits us like a slap in the face with the period he was homeless, the hardships of life, and the dead ends, quenching the thirst of our hearts.
"Just Kids" by Patti Smith: I can say that I've read very few self-portraits as good as this one. Perhaps it's because of the beauty of life itself, Patti Smith takes us on a long journey to New York in the 60s. It's a compelling story of how they went from the dilapidated living room of their Brooklyn home with Robert Mapplethorpe to the bus stops where they spent the night, and their efforts to emerge as artists, reaching from their cocoons to the corridors of the Chelsea Hotel and the dance floor of Studio 54.
I was 19 years old when I first read this book. I was on vacation with my family in the south of Turkey. It was July, I believe. I was in love. Deeply in love.Whenever anything related to Patti Smith comes up, that heartache immediately comes to mind. I still remember what I felt while reading this book — the salty smell of the sea that burned my throat and the never-ending ache in my stomach.