The Intimacy of the Artists’ Mind: the loner artist type explained

“Seek first to understand, then engage.”

The only way to understand for yourself is through silence, and silence is bred from alone time. And that is the place where most art is created, in this safe place. As a loner and an artist, and as someone who creates mostly alone as a writer and storyteller, I’d like to reflect on what it’s like for the loner artist type and what it looks like on the other side, for those who can relate and those who can’t. 

For me, I admire that silence in between action and stillness. 

The ideal – most often, the actual – result from spending time alone like this is peace and empathy in its highest expression, allowing me to navigate the world with my heart and sometimes logic. Creatively, my art thrives from that. This happens, I believe, because I can follow my creative urges quickly and from a place of instinct. Something comes to mind, and I can sit at the computer and write it all down. Or grab my notebook if I’m out and scribble random phrasings and conceptualize a fantasy to myself. Or if I want to get on a plane and escape, I can do that too. 

                     Oftentimes, a loner needs the mornings alone. Maybe nights too. 

                                Maybe for the loner there is no line between fantasy and reality,
                                so we need that time to set ourselves and get into the moods we truly desire, 
                         as we are ever-changing with the winds of others’ emotions. 

                                Like water on the beach. The only way to stop the waves is to stop the wind. 
                         So the water can become clear again, and I can see how I feel and think. 

That’s how I feel most days, like I can’t properly articulate every thought, whim, emotion and impulse to the world around me. So art takes the place of people some days so I can show the people I love who’s inside. It’s because I’m quiet that I drifted into more of the loner type. I have so many things to say, so many creative ideas, gripes about the world, but I hate hearing myself talk for too long, so I decide to listen instead. 

Nonetheless, I can be in the presence of people without having to engage with them. There’s something about that – people-watching. Observation is a crucial part of translating the world into art. After all, how can you create new worlds if you have not first understood your own? Let me reiterate that I love most people, and respect the many that cross my path until they give me a reason not to. But, it can become so easy to fall into the rhythms of the world, losing control, and soon not understanding. Sometimes being in the action can cause confusion, chaos, maybe even insanity. 

That’s not to say I don’t live my life, but being a loner and artist at the same time has given me something strange: clarity. So when I begin the action, I understand why I do what I do, and why I create what I create. There’s a reason for everything when in peace, away from a busy world.

And somehow I can express things of the people I’ve watched over the years and show them mirrors of themselves and of the times. Art does these things. It reaches people without ever having to say a word to most people. Writing this now allows me to communicate in a much more eloquent way; this is the way I hear my thoughts in my head. Sometimes photography is how I see them, and other times dance is how I feel them. Art is special for the woman who felt like her voice was never heard. 

Art gave me a voice, and when I stepped into the world to interact from this lens of the artist, I’ve pursued much more meaningful connections as a result. Art helped me to see myself, and when I saw myself, I saw others. I began to want people that could elevate me in core ways, where my identity could be challenged and empowered, with someone who I could contribute love and insight to and collect a few shared interests, together. A true friend. 

I’ve watched too many people to know that most people settle for people that just don’t match their own energy because they feel like they need friends, any friends really. Most people don’t like the feeling of being “alone,” so they look down on others when they go into restaurants, clubs, or events alone. Anyone that has ever walked into a crowded space alone probably knows this experience. It’s somehow different when one walks into these spaces in a big group, or with a date. The more people around you, it seems, means the more important and worthy you are. Being alone meant inherent unworthiness, or rather, how the world viewed the loner who seemed to have no one but themselves. And why is something like that a thing of shame in the first place? Something so simple. 

Who told us to reject the benefits of the in-between states, of reflection? Who told us that we needed people to be and feel important? When too often we are treated like cigarettes and ashtrays. Alone but never lonely are most loners I’ve come across. 

For the sensitive artist, alone time is even more vital. Energy must be poured somewhere, or it’ll fester, or worse, be given to people that aren’t meant for your life. Self-expression sometimes has to be done alone, then put out for the world to see. 

Kali Uchis said it the best when she said that she has freedom because she’s not tied to what others think of her, and is the sole maker of her own peace. Art is an integral part of making peace when everything has gone quiet, and you have to face yourself in the mirror. 

So for those that are loners and those that are not, maybe we should understand ourselves a little more to understand others. Then maybe we could have a little bit of both. No more loners, or social people, just truth. And in that truth: choice, the artists’ greatest tool and conduit of freedom. 

Photo by Stephane MARGERIN on Unsplash 

Tag: loner artist

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