What Happens When My Art Gets Honest?

I recently started learning animation, and the experience has been a powerful, personal awakening. It didn't just unlock a new method of creation; it unlocked a new way of seeing (and hunting) for stories everywhere I go.

My first attempts were simple experiments: trying to breathe life into elements resurrected from my static photographs and paintings, moving them from point A to point B. This quickly evolved into making simple, short looped videos using digital drawings on my iPad and the Procreate app. Now, I am using these digital sketches to create full narratives, discovering and exploring my own voice and style in the expansive world of animation.

The very first story I completed was born directly from a moment of raw vulnerability. It was one of those nights when I came back home and felt small and powerless, overwhelmed by the dark, thoughts that often surface when I am alone. I decided to capture that internal crisis, transforming those raw emotions into my first animated short. Currently, I'm working on animating my second story, it’s a dream I had the other night. It has become an enormous joy to hunt for these narratives. Whether I’m meeting new people, having a fleeting thought, or wrestling with an unexpected emotion, I now ask myself: How can I translate this into a story that others can experience?

But the more deeply I dive into this process, the more a single question follows me: How much honesty should I truly put into my stories?

Can I really tell everything to everyone—the smallness, the powerlessness, the unfiltered truth of a dark thought—and still be liked? Will they still want to watch? The fear of social judgment is the most difficult thing I face.

I don't have the definitive answer yet, but I know the next step: just keep doing it. Sharing myself, with all its light and shadow, is a practice I am committed to developing—one that requires just as much courage as mastering the keyframes and timelines.