Ink, Pressure, Release
This story was supposed to be about linocut printing. Yet it became a reflection on an era of social media, instant exposure, and constant reminders to turn passion into profit.
A linocut print technique, and the absurd urge
Ink
For the last couple of days, sentences from A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara have been slowly creeping into my body, word by word, covering my hands in ink while reading. I am halfway through the book, and I am uncertain what the book’s message is, but it is surely emotionally heavy reading, and the receipt of plant-based gummies as a bookmark feels rather odd. Therefore, in need of relaxation after a heavy chapter, I decided to create a bookmark. Something minimal to draw and quick to print with the linocut technique. Just a little treat for myself, a bookmark.
Pressure
Sometimes, or rather, often, I struggle with my creativity, and I cannot say the struggle is about a matter of being blocked and squeezed into an empty corner of my mind, where I would be helpless and incapable of creating anything. For me, it is simply a matter of being a creative person in the era of social media, being always on, with endless ways to monetise my creativity, where I am constantly encouraged to produce more, to post more, to sell more and to grow my audience more. Just more, more, more, more, until the noise becomes so overwhelming that I no longer know who I am as an artist, what I want to create, or why I began at all.
Release
Deep breath in, and breath out — 1, 2, 3, 4…, so there it was. My thoughts had already shifted. The bookmark was no longer a small treat. It had become a product, complete with a strategy for my (closed) Etsy store and an Instagram promotional campaign.
Efficient. Impressive. Completely absurd.
But jokes aside! Making money is inevitable in everyone’s life, but not being able to make a bookmark for myself? Dear me. It is truly time to reprogram my business-trained, algorithm-fed artistic mind and return to myself, not a machine producing art to please others and make a profit.
From now on, just me, ink, no pressure — and the ordinary bookmark that does not need to become anything else.
Promise!
These days, reading on Kindle has become the norm for me. Books are noticeably heavy, and I do change apartments way too often. However, I really like to wander around thrift stores, and they do have book sections… and I have little will of my own there, so paper books end up on my shelves anyway.
Whenever the magical purchase happens, I am never prepared. Obviously, I start reading in a store, then at the metro station, and on the train, and when it is time to get off, I usually mark the book with whatever piece of garbage is in my pocket. Thus, in one second, a needless receipt or candy wrapper finds a new purpose as the guard of my reading pit stops, at least, for as long as I read a book.
Although I fancy the idea of making up a story about fortunate receipts and thrifted books, this column is about something else, so let’s pause here and jump to the main story. It starts with Ink.