I got tired of writing and publishing every day. It has become a nuisance that I tend to escape just to be able to get it out of my way. The value of those 20-30 minutes of creative improvisation has gone down a lot. The lack of dialogue with the public demotivated me. I have no reactions. Obviously, it is up to me to understand why. I find myself at the crossroads of deciding whether to write just for me, for me in public or to write for an audience. This should make a difference. Not having a clear view of the audience I’m looking for, I prefer to stay focused on writing for myself. The main value of writing for me is to find the concentration to think. This is why I find myself with drafts that with difficulty become interesting pieces to read in public. They are articles that have done the most important work for me, make me think. There is no time for the desire to transform those neural embryos into something more in-depth and caring for someone who can find them interesting. I was too ambitious in thinking that every day I could give birth to a creative gem to be set. I like the idea of the constant creative flow but the curatorship of Curatella is still missing. We need to collect rough stones, work them and, if and when it’s worth it, then ring them.
There is also a lack of a more compelling relationship with the reader. I write to me, about me, for myself. It’s too easy for the reader to ask “yes, cute, so what? What do I do with it?”. I would therefore tend to move without hesitation and remorse on a personal level for the purpose of individual growth. I could find different forms for the different possible expressions. There may be an unstructured, daily diary that aspires to nothing but that of existing. Secondly, I can create a place of creativity and exchange that is more open to dialogue by taking care of it, keeping the goal of launching a conversation more focused.
I leave you here, these thoughts, without rereading them, precisely in the declared spirit.
Bye.