The most dangerous thing for an artist is comfort

Imagine you have just woken up, ready to start the day. You enter the kitchen, have breakfast, then sit with a warm mug of tea or coffee, whichever you prefer. The steam rising from the mug, the addictive aroma is filling up your senses and making you feel more relaxed as seconds go by.

There is comfort. There is relaxation. This is a sublime state to be.

But….is there any drive?

See, that seems to do the trick. You don't feel comfortable anymore. That warm steam evaporating from the mug- the heat against the skin of your hands-suddenly isn't so warm.

If you're someone who questions everything, doesn't just accept things at face value - you might ask: so what? Why does it hurt you that my life is filled with things that make it easier?

Nothing wrong with that. That warm mug isn't your enemy. You being born with luxury is not the problem. Not having to think about before buying a 300 tk. drink at Dhanmondi isn't the problem (It truly isn't, trust me!). Not having to think about what to eat the next day, and leaving that planning to someone else isn't the problem.

The problem is thinking this luxury is enough.

Your fingertips pause against the mug. there is warmth, but that's not your concern right now. You are listening, more eager than you've ever been in your entire life.

Your eyes. They're curious as well.

Listen, then.

When I say comfort, I mean the comfort of being content. Having nothing to prove. The kind which removes hardship and actively rewires your brain to avoid struggle. And when we avoid struggle, we do not know how good being at ease feels. That neutral, empty feeling - nothing feels exciting. That's what happens when you have nothing to compare it with.

You interject.

"There are great artists who are born into privilege--Rabindranath Tagore, Michael Madhusudan Dutt, Mozart. Will you say privilege diminished their quality of work? If anything, it elevated their opportunities."

True. Privilege gave them the stage. It gave them the access to teachers, instruments, time, freedom.

But here's what I notice.

Tagore didn't create his best works in the comfort of his mansion. He left Jorasanko, lived among the rural people in Shilaidaha. His emotional suffering granted him the wisdom needed to create such artistic expression.

Madhusudan Dutt was disowned. He converted, defied his father, and died in poverty. He didn't create Meghnad Badh Kavya from comfort - he created it from hunger, rejection, and the desperate need to prove himself.

As for Mozart, he literally had no choice but to produce. He was driven under intense psychological pressure. Luxury embraced him, peace never did.

What I'm trying to say is comfort is the absence of surprise. Comfort is predictability. Comfort is knowing what comes next.

Art is the exact opposite.

Art is wanting more.

It's gathering yourself up after your heart being broken into pieces as well as laughing with your friends until your stomach hurts. It's the disappointment when things didn't turn out they should have, also the euphoria of finding something much better than you expected. It's the tears of failure, and the pride of accomplishment.

Can there be art without moments?

Can moments be created within the realm of comfort?

Ask me countless times, and my answer will be no.

The writer is completing her BA in English at East West University.

needleinastack23@gmail.com