Staring Back: Why I Draw Darkness (And why God Doesn’t Mind)
I draw shadows. Houses that breathe, ghouls that crave attention and forests that swallowed the light. And many times, when I post a dark artwork of mine, a fellow Christian says: “But Jesus died for you, why aren’t you happy? What you’re drawing looks demonic.’’
I get it. Many of us Christians want to seek light and the comfort we can find in Jesus. But here’s what I think: He didn’t die so we’d pretend that the dark isn’t real. He died because it is.
So, when I am drawing a moody graveyard or an abandoned cabin, that is not completely empty after all, I am not flirting with evil. I’m just looking. At the nails, at the betrayal, the blood, at the silence.
Apparently it makes some people uncomfortable. But honestly, it’s the darkness that we ignore that is the real devil. Or worse, the darkness that we try to hide.
In my work I’m just saying: “Hey, it exists. I will not pretend that it doesn’t.’ And to be perfectly honest, I did struggle for a while when Eptein’s evil became so obvious that it gives many people nightmares. I was afraid for a while that I was adding to it. But I now realise that hiding evil and describing darkness while bringing it into the light are two different things: Hiding evil keeps it safe, even lets it grow.
Describing darkness on the other hand drags it out into the open, like pulling back a curtain on a room full of dust. I don’t make the dust, I just show it.
And to me, Jesus wasn’t some soft-focus saint. He was real. He had all human emotions. Every messy human one. He got angry, tired, scared and lonely. (‘‘My God, why have you forsaken Me?’’) He flipped tables at the temple like he was done pretending everything was fine.
Also, He invited us to pick up our cross and follow Him. He did not ask us to pick up a flower or a bunny. But a cross; heavy, splintery, something that kills us.
My dark art is my cross. Not because it’s evil, but because it’s honest. Evil stops growing in the sunlight and sometimes it transforms into something you can finally touch. Nor is it a punishment, it’s proof that I’m alive and still walking.
God bless.
