How I Stopped Being a Cry Baby and Started a Blog

    Back then, I use to wrote in a little notebook with a blue Bic pen. There I was, convinced I was channeling the spirit of the tortured artist—scribbling down my "feelings" in an almost theatrical way, as if each word was somehow meant to be a poem. I romanticized the idea of the artist, creating on a whim, when inspiration struck—everything I wrote felt like a masterpiece in the making. I was so first-degree about it all, jotting down my poor, misunderstood white boy angst like some heartbroken teenager with a pen and a notebook. My heroes? The beatniks, of course. Allen Ginsberg, Patti Smith... they were the ones who showed me that writing could be raw and real. Or so I thought.
 

Then, reality set in. Those pages? Empty. Those "poems"? Soulless. I had this naïve idea that writing my feelings would help me make sense of the world—but it didn’t. It just left me more confused. So, I stopped.
 

And then I moved to Brussels. Moving there was like stepping into an entirely new world of expressing—one that didn’t require feeling everything in the deepest, most dramatic way. It was there that my ex (now a great friend) introduced me to artists like Sophie Calle (to say the less), and suddenly, I saw writing in a whole new light. It was less about me and more about how we tell our stories, often with a bit of distance, a bit of irony, and a lot more truth. This wasn’t about a deep dive into my own personal emotional ocean; this was about exploring the spaces between the lines and finding the beauty in that ambiguity.

When Tao Lin came into my readings, I discovered the beauty of writing about yourself, but not in the self-indulgent, "artist misunderstood by the world" way. I could still lie, still exaggerate, but the honesty would remain. Writing became less about confession and more about exploration. 

So, I did what any self-respecting try-to-be-artist would do: I ditched the old “poor me” writing and started channeling these ideas into my art. I was all about found images and class transfuge themes now—because apparently, feeling stuff isn’t enough when you can make it into a whole art movement.
 

Enter my friend Irma vape. She started her blog, and I couldn’t help but wonder—why not me? After a few too many nights binge-watching Sex and the City, I thought, why not try blogging as a way to talk about things I’m not covering in my art? Things that are still important to me but don’t quite fit into the realm of my "art practice."
 

And here I am—my debut in the blogging world.
 

xx


Louis

my desk at l'erg