DEAFNOTES013: Breaking the Loop
A Personal Account of Artistic Crisis and Renewal
It’s been quite a while since my last posting, a lot has happened, and I haven’t been able to keep up with producing and documenting everything as I had planned and demanded of myself. But I am pleasantly surprised: under different circumstances, this would have led me into a serious crisis. I would have branded myself an impostor and overturned everything, erasing old traces to create something new that is completely different and supposed to be much better than the old. The good news is that this is not what happened.
In the summer, I spent a few weeks traveling through southern Europe and, in trains, cafés, and lodgings, I thought both actively and passively about my own artistic crises and how I dealt with them. One evening, in a lodge in the Italian city of Verona, I was intuitively doodling in my notebook with a pen and drew a circle that closes. Next to it, I drew another circle that did not close.
This is how impostor syndrome always feels to me:
I start out motivated,
like a moving point on a line,
a circle forms,
and I demand that it MUST close.
But what happens?
Things unfold differently than planned,
a divergence emerges, and I realize
that the circle cannot close.
Of course, I imagine that the panic of “the circle is not closing” and symbolically stands for “I am failing” arises and boils over precisely when I am close to my supposed goal, haha. It’s part of the drama I create for myself.
In this dramatic state of panic I blame myself, because it must have happened somewhere along the way, I must have been sloppy — and once that happens, I can no longer “manage to get back on track”. I then simply jump off the circle, down beyond the boundaries of my little two-dimensional world that I have built and constructed for myself.
But this summer, that wasn’t the situation at all. The path isn’t predefined. I’m not moving in a circle. I’m breaking the loop, intentionally.
Right next to my first draft, I drew another sketch tracing my actual routes. I thought about where I started and where it has taken me. I think about the most absurd moments, the most frustrating situations, and the most wonderful successes. I looked at that mess and thought to myself humorously, “Yes, that’s more accurate” and felt quite good about it.
I really enjoyed this moment as my first real noticeable triumph over my inner demons. Of course, this success did not go unnoticed or unreflected. Ultimately, I find myself constantly observing myself. Sometimes it feels like a compulsion not to miss what is going on inside me. To absorb every detail, to delve into every thought and emotion. This form of attention is both a blessing and a curse. I thought to myself, “Oh, this is new. How did that happen?”
Since I have been living in Hamburg and dealing more intensively with my impairment (sensorineural hearing loss), I have rediscovered a slowness, a way of finding my own pace. Three key factors play a major role in this:
Key factor (1) Authenticity. I don’t construct a temporary fictional alter ego. I am what I am: an (almost) deaf anthropologist with an extraordinary interest in immersive, interdisciplinary, collaborative formats. I deal with questions that preoccupy me, search for answers and means of expression, and find them within different layers that I enjoy connecting with one another. This is immensely liberating and relates to the basic idea I had when I chose my pseudonym. I wanted to be able to identify with it and not have to compare myself to others. I am what I am.
Key factor (2) Inspiration. In Hamburg, through project-based work, I’ve found a small network of like-minded and wonderful people with whom it’s truly enriching to exchange ideas and develop something together. Everyone has their own projects and is busy in their own worlds, so the pressure to create is different for everyone. Together we agree on what works and what doesn’t. That’s very refreshing, liberating. And beyond Hamburg, I’m part of the international collective Exposure Therapy, an incredibly appreciative and inspiring environment. Here, too, I meet people who are in very different situations in their life and have different perspectives. All these people and their art inspire me, and I learn a lot from them, coming into contact with things that aren’t on my radar. That’s awesome.
Key factor (3) De-Commercialization. My artistic work is not my main source of economic income. I have a full-time job that covers my living expenses and more. This takes away all the pressure to produce in order to earn a living. In the past, monetizing my passions took away a lot of my enthusiasm. I’ve already experienced the other side. And I couldn’t handle it. It’s true: Free time to actively engage with the project has become more scarce. But I use it more intensively. The priority is on the intensity of the experience, not on the quantity of end products. I feel that I have become more creative and self-confident in a time-limited but “de-commercialized” setting.
- — And where am I now?
After a very productive spring and early summer, during which I collaborated with artists, took part in stage and spatial installations, performed live again myself several times, and initiated further projects, I can say to myself: let’s keep going, but still at my own pace. This applies to both my audio and visual work as well as my writing.
I would also like to return to the original idea I had in mind for my Substack: a behind-the-scenes documentary that accompanies my publications and projects in the background. This Substack blog is intended to be an informative add-on for anyone interested in more background information about my work. If you’re expecting a big social media alike package with regular updates, you’ve come to the wrong place. But if you’d like to read in from time to time and are keen to exchange ideas, you’re very welcome. My Substack still remains free of charge – but if you’d still like to contribute something, you’re welcome to Buy Me A Coffee.
Thank you to everyone who supports me and accompanies me on this journey. It means a lot to me.
- G