clichés dismantled

freedom, focus and courage

My way or the highway? Does a studio really have to be chaotic in order to be creative? Do you have to suffer to create something meaningful? Do I have to prove myself to others in order to be allowed to call myself an artist?

I try it all. And each time, I notice something different.

Clutter in my studio doesn't free my mind — it overwhelms it. Too much tension makes my work tighter, less surprising. And yes, sometimes I hear that little voice: "See? You're not good enough."

But what if freedom actually begins with calm? What if structure and focus create space for experimentation? What if I give myself permission to create without constantly having to prove that I deserve to?

Cliché: A real artist works surrounded by paint splatters, half-empty coffee cups, and piles of paper.
The genius mess of the artist. 

It doesn't work that way for me. Chaos makes my mind loud. And a loud mind makes cautious work. When my studio is tidy, something inside me becomes quiet. And in that quiet, I dare more. Then something is allowed to fail. Then something can emerge that I hadn't planned. My studio is not a storm. It is an anchor.

Cliché: The tormented artist creates the deepest art.
Yes, experience feeds the work. Yes, extreme emotion can open something up. But chronic unrest closes things down. Under tension, I search for control. No unexpected lines. No strange combinations. No leaps. After my burnout, I am learning to create from softness rather than self-destruction. Calm makes risk possible. My work is not proof of pain. It is proof that I dare to stand again.

Cliché: Creative people are chaotic, messy, scattered, not business-minded, not precise.
I am critical. Meticulous. I value accuracy. I want clear communication. That doesn't exclude creativity. It is how I work.
Freedom, to me, does not mean letting go of everything. It means knowing what I am doing.

Cliché: If you sell your work, you're commercial.
As if art is only pure as long as it brings in nothing. Working professionally is not a betrayal; it is taking care of what I create. Structure around my practice does not make my work less honest. It makes it possible for me to keep creating, day after day, experiment after experiment. Do I dare to live from what I make, without shame? Yes. I am allowed to live from what I create. Every decision to share my work is a choice for freedom, not for compromise.

Cliché: Limitations stifle creativity.
More freedom is always better? Sometimes too much openness makes me restless. Sometimes I choose a single technique. Sometimes I work within one theme. Not to hold myself back, but because focus gives me space to think further. A limitation is not a cage for me. It is a playground. It challenges me to dig deeper, to find unexpected solutions. When not everything has to happen at once, I dare more. Then there is space for experimentation. Boundaries bring calm. And calm brings freedom.

Cliché: A real artist is called one by others.
The little voice still appears sometimes: "See? You're not allowed to call yourself an artist."
Yes, I have a master's degree in fine arts. I have an independent practice. I show and sell my work. For others, that might be important, a proof of my skill. But for me, that is not what makes me an artist. My work, my research, my courage: that is my proof. I take my work seriously. I create. I explore. I remain. I don't need permission from the outside. Visibility and professionalism do not make my work any less real. They give it the space to exist.

Maybe I'm not dismantling clichés. Maybe I'm simply showing them as they are. My studio is not chaos, but an anchor. My work is not proof of pain, but of courage. My meticulousness is not a limitation, but a strength. My professionalism is not a betrayal, but a choice. My boundaries are not a restraint, but a playground. Freedom does not arise from boundlessness. It arises from safety.