You guessed it –the jumbled lines that seemed to have no origin or end symbolize the infinite loops of emotions that proliferate throughout the artist’s day. The hands drawn in embody her attempt to reach out and grasp onto whatever life is left in her. The mixture of monochromic colors elucidate the various moods that come and go; the blobs of black basically scream desperation. So much meaning. So emblematic.
The artist just felt like drawing that. In a world that is enriched with a vast amount of profundity, we are taught to always find the “deeper” meaning behind everything and practically anything. Failing to do so causes panic: we feel like the odd one out (especially when everyone else observing Michelangelo’s painting in the museum nod in some sort of universal agreement). In the midst of burying our heads into possible meanings in works of literature, sculptures, themes our critical vision is blurred, blinded by the process of overthinking.
Even Freud, noted for his stretched and abstract views dealing with psychoanalysis, said sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes a drawing is just a drawing. Whether it may be a string of stubbornness that we cling onto or a permanent mark ingrained into our minds, our thoughts entice towards complexity.
And is complexity necessarily good? Maybe. But it is equally, if not more important, to define all motions and experiences as not clusters of intricacy or scattered pieces of mental puzzles. As a person who overthinks practically every single day, this process of viewing things in “simpler terms” seems at best idealistic. To tell an overthinker not to overthink is like telling a person underwater to just breathe. While this advice may be physically impossible, it is essential to take a step back and see the bigger picture.
And sometimes that picture doesn’t mean anything extraordinary (like the one above). We must relearn our foundations and tell ourselves that that’s okay. Life doesn’t have to be labelled as hectic or frenzied. It’s simple, really.