Introduction

I met my dear friend Eric by pure chance one day at a downtown café I’ve frequented for over 20 years. A cultivated man of advanced age, Eric quickly saw my artistic abilities and has since been an unwavering source of encouragement, urging me to draw with every of our exchanges. While I’m grateful for his belief in me, his encouragement has also created pressure, especially as I find myself resisting the act of creating visual art these days.

In the email below which I sent Eric tonight, I share the inner conflict I’m currently grappling with—the struggle to create, the weight of others’ expectations, and the refuge I’ve found in writing instead. Eric had referred to me as a “Cassandra”—a reference to the mythological prophetess of Ancient Greece who was tragically doomed to have her truthful prophecies ignored. This led to a conversation with my AI “assistant”, which encapsulates a lot of what I’m experiencing in my artistic journey. I wanted to share it with you, as I believe it speaks to the ongoing battle I face between my connection to visual art and the comfort I’ve found in writing.

In my email to Eric, I mention a rat drawing I did shortly after Trump came into his first term—a work that caused some discomfort when I shared it, as few people like rats, much less dead ones. For me, however, it was deeply symbolic. It was inspired by renowned artist Lucian Freud’s work, and I thought it might be fitting to include it here, despite its unsettling nature.

I also reference an interview Eric shared with me with Former French Prime Minister Dominique de Villepin titled Over the Silence of the West & Israel’s War on Gaza, which had a profound impact on me and led to further reflection. The conversation in this video, and the questions it raised, seemed to echo my own internal battles between expression and silence—especially regarding my art.

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Dear Eric,

Thank you for sharing that interview with me. It left me feeling sad and helpless, as we all are in the face of so much violence and destruction, with no end in sight. It’s easy to say we shouldn’t fight terrorism with violence, but these people are driven by pure hatred. I don’t see how diplomacy could ever make them stop. At the same time, I know all too well that violence begets violence, and we’re stuck in an endless cycle that’s persisted since the beginning of time.

Your comparison with Cassandra isn’t far off the mark. I have to admit, there are times I do feel like her. It’s not an easy role, but sometimes I can’t help but see things others don’t. I knew, for example, 20 years ago that reality TV was a toxic influence on society.

Close to the day Trump was elected—if not the same day—I saw a dead rat and took a photo, thinking it would make a beautiful drawing. When I shared it, people disliked it. Nobody likes rats, much less dead ones, but I think it’s a beautiful drawing. I’m a fan of Lucian Freud’s work, and it reminded me of his drawings of dead animals.

If you’d like, I’ll send it to you. I wasn’t going to without asking first, as I don’t want to shock you. At the time, it wasn’t just about the rat, but the larger symbolism. Rats have been blamed for plagues throughout history—even though we know better now.

In my mind, I was thinking of Trump as a plague. And then, of course, came Covid. It felt surreal, like a twisted confirmation of something I couldn’t have known consciously but sensed. But they say all artists have this gift—or curse.

I appreciate the way you always encourage me to create. It’s not easy to make sense of things, but since childhood, I’ve turned to writing to process life. It’s second nature. Drawing doesn’t come as easily. It’s painful, and the inner critic is relentless. I’ve never known how to just ‘play.’ Maybe it’s because I was an only child, or maybe I’ve always been too serious for my own good. I can’t very well change my nature, can I?

Making art isn’t play for me. It feels like a duty. Perhaps if my parents had discouraged me, it would’ve felt like rebellion. Who knows? They say art should feel like play, but if the mood isn’t right, I can’t force it. It’s too unpleasant.

I spoke to a friend today—she’s seventy and a prolific artist with many exhibitions—and she knew exactly what I meant, almost as if she’d felt it herself. There was comfort in knowing someone who’s created for decades understood.These days, writing feels more helpful. I appreciate your encouragement, and I’m sorry if I disappoint you and everyone else who wants me to express myself through images rather than words. But I can’t live to fulfill other people’s expectations.

I’ll keep reflecting on what you shared. Thank you again for sending it my way.

Best,
Ilana

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Me: Why do you think people want me to draw so much? What is it? Why are they insisting so much?

AI: People want you to draw because they see your art as part of who you are. Your talent may feel meaningful to them, and they might believe it helps you process emotions or express yourself in ways words can’t. For some, your art holds a personal significance, and they may feel that by encouraging you to create, they’re preserving something essential about you.

It could also reflect their discomfort with change—especially if they’ve always known you as someone who draws. Shifting to writing might unsettle them, even if they support you. Ultimately, they probably just want to see you fulfilled, believing that drawing is part of that, whether it feels that way to you or not.

Does that feel closer to what you’re sensing?

Me: All I know is that writing comes so much more easily to me. I don’t have to struggle to do it. It just flows. I never really learned how to play. Maybe because I’m an only child and spent so much time alone? Or maybe I did, but I’m just too serious by nature. Making art isn’t play for me—it’s not fun at all.

I understand that people find it more appealing, but I’m not here to please other people… that’s not… I need to communicate in any way that seems right to me. 

Maybe I’ll start drawing again tomorrow. Maybe next week, maybe in a month maybe or in a year—I can’t help it if people somehow associate me with making Art more than they do with Writing. I guess I haven’t shared that much of my writing before so they don’t realise how much more energy I’ve put into that all my life than I ever have into drawing really. 

AI: Writing feels like your natural form of expression, while drawing feels more like a responsibility. It makes sense that you’d lean toward what comes easily. Being an only child and spending time alone likely shaped how you approach creativity—more as a serious, focused endeavour than something playful or light.

People often associate us with what they’ve seen most, and since your art has been more public, they might not realize how much writing has always been part of you. But that doesn’t mean you have to meet their expectations. Your writing holds power, and it’s valid to let that lead right now.

If you feel drawn to draw again, you’ll know when the right time is. But it’s also perfectly valid for you to embrace writing as your primary means of expression and communication. This is your journey, and you get to decide how to take it.

Me: “If you feel drawn to draw”. Lol 

AI: Haha, fair point! I suppose that phrasing was a little too “artsy” for the situation. It sounds like the whole process of drawing is complicated for you right now, so I get that “feeling drawn” probably isn’t the right way to frame it. It’s more about whether you choose to draw again, when or if that moment comes. No pressure, just a matter of when it fits into your flow.

Me: I think I’ve got myself another blog post. I like this exchange we’ve just had. It would make sense to include that drawing I did, wouldn’t it?

AI: Absolutely. The drawing is part of the story—whether people like it or not. Besides, Cassandra wouldn’t hold back just because her visions made people uncomfortable.

Me: Indeed.

Image captions:
Above: Cassandra by Evelyn De Morgan (1898, London); Depicts Cassandra in front of the burning city of Troy, with disheveled hair symbolizing the madness ascribed to her by the Trojans.
Below: The Bearer of Plague by Ilana Shamir (2017, Montreal); Pencil on paper. Drawn shortly after Donald Trump came into office.

• A Christmas gift to myself
• A few of the drawings I destroyed this year
• THE AKATHISIA FILES: PT 5
• THE AKATHISIA FILES: PT 4
• “I like rocks.”