INK: An Artist’s Response to the Elegance of the Hedgehog

Alexandra Lanzalaco, Essay

As an artist, I have come to understand the staggering futility of my work and how it is objectively negligible in the grand scheme of things. I am reminded of this fact everytime I repeatedly glide the side of my hand against my smooth sketchbook paper, with my chosen artistic instrument in hand. And, as the tip of my inventive tool scrapes against what is essentially the desecrated remains of a deceased tree, I am made aware of the fact that even though I find solace in this activity and that my work is designed to afford mental and emotional easement to those who are subjected to it, it could be considered a beautiful piece without an earth-shattering purpose beyond what it understood by humanity. So essentially, albeit fruitless in some cases, for humankind, art is a wondrous coping mechanism for fundamentally any emotional affliction one could be burdened with, and this fact has only proven time and time again to be unequivocally true for me, as even in the darkest of my despair and utter despondence, picking up a pencil, or any other material for that matter, and allowing it to freely flow across the page is indescribably gratifying and ameliorating. 

As stated within the text, art in all forms truly does make life more bearable and without it we would be lost and forgotten. Because homo sapiens are such a developed species, we are all encumbered with tedious everyday tasks, such as obtaining an education in order to build analytical skills, dealing with other humans, or merely even reacting in response to a variety of external stimuli continuously, as any other animal does, does become monotonous and tiring eventually. Any form of escapism that humans can desperately grasp at with fatigued, withered hands is sure to be essential to our survival and integral to assisting humans in dealing with the cumbersome weight of everyday life. Many common art forms that could be classified as escapism include pastimes such as listening to music, drawing, painting, animating, sculpting, writing, and so on, with many of these art forms being activities that we indulge within daily to escape day-to-day life. Even the mere act of replenishing our bodies with sustenance has become an art form and it is flabbergasting to think about how we overtly desire to transform any activity imaginable into a performance where we are free to be creative, let our minds liberate themselves, and fantasize about outlandish ideas, things, and places. 

However, it is also immensely saddening to think about how some have hopelessly fallen into a wretched state of outright discouragement regarding art and the escapism it provides, where they feel as though they are uncreative, simply “untalented”, or not even worthy of creating nor indulging within certain forms of art. Undeniably, most people would say that as children they were beautifully unadulterated by life and that they did not care what other people thought, did, nor how others felt and, as they inevitably grew up, the ability to see the world in an imaginative, colorful, artistic light steadily faded and will soon dwindle into nothing more than a mere memory to think back on and become exceptionally disheartened over. As a child, I was so innately expressive and vivacious, as most children are, persistently creating works of art to show to my parents and others around me in order to garner their kind, addictive validation. At that naive age, I was majestically content with the mere act of creating a drawing to be proud of and to ogle at. Although, now that I have grown up essentially, I no longer experience that type of fulfillment when simply creating a work of art that I am proud of, now I distress over my art and worry if it is subpar, not as good as someone else’s work, or if I am a failure or embarrassment in the art field for not living up to my certain set of artistic standards. It befuddles me immensely as to how so much could change over the course of the beginning of my lifespan to the current period of time in which I am living. It is very informative and telling to retrospectively look back and compare your previous self to who you are today and recognize how much you have changed, for better or for worse.