🔥 A Love Letter to Your Inner Artist (That’ll Make You Want to Burn Down the Doubt) 🔥

Letters from Exile #2

Hey You!

Yeah, you—the one squinting at this screen like it’s a cryptic love note taped to your fridge. I don’t even know what to call you. I almost started this with "Dear Artist," but then I remembered: you’re not a category. You’re a goddamn event. A seismic shift in sweatpants.

So let’s do this right. Say your name out loud. The one you whisper to the mirror when no one’s watching. The one that sounds like a thunderclap or a sigh or maybe just "fuck it, I’m Potato."

Now write it here:

Dear ________,

I see you. Not the "you" that files taxes or forgets to water the plants—the other you. The one who dreams in colors that don’t have names yet. The one who scribbles lyrics on grocery receipts and sees galaxies in coffee stains.

---

1. YOU ARE A GODDAMN MIRACLE

Let’s cut the bullshit: You create worlds out of nothing.

• That doodle in the margin? A thing that didn’t exist - ever before.

• That hummed melody? A spell to end the darkness.

• That pile of bricks you stacked "just because"? A middle finger to gravity.

And yet—somehow—you’ve been convinced that unless it sells, it doesn’t count. Lies. The capitalist grifters want you to believe art is a product. But you? You’re a natural disaster.

(Remember: Van Gogh traded paintings for bread. Kafka wanted his work burned. The system’s approval means less than an accountant’s opinion.)

---

2. YOUR BRAIN IS A SECRET LAB

Fun fact: In Japan, green traffic lights are legally called "blue." For centuries, people saw the sky and leaves as the same hue. Then—boom—some rebel decided: "Nope, that’s a whole new color."

That’s you. You’re the one who looks at chaos and whispers:

• "What if this shadow is actually violet?"

• "What if sadness sounds like a cello played underwater?"

• "What if we use this rusty piece of metal to create a monument of joy?"

---

3. THE WORLD WANTS TO SILENCE YOU (DON’T LET IT)

They’ll try to shove you into boxes:

• "Make it marketable."

• "Optimize your vibe."

• "AI could do this faster."

But you? You’re the kid finger-painting with mud. The old man whistling off-key on the subway. The woman turning her grief into a garden. You’re the antidote to the spreadsheet apocalypse.

---

4. YOUR MISSION (SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT)

Today:

• Steal 10 minutes. Do something pointless and glorious. (Dance in socks. Write a haiku about your toaster.)

• Tag someone who needs this letter. (They’re drowning in self-doubt. Throw them this lifeline.)

• Reply with your artist name and what you’ll create this week. ("Swish, painting a mural on my fridge.")

---

P.S. The crows outside my window just cawed in agreement. They’re on your side.

P.P.S. If the doubt creeps back in? Reread this. Then go stack some rocks.

Love,

CD Familias (I am indignified!)

Satoshi Manor

Otaru, Japan