Finding Hope in a World That's Lost its Way

Do you ever feel like the world is falling apart? Like everything around us is driven by selfishness, hustle culture, and an "all-out-for-myself" mentality? I find myself in love with the people in my life—my tribe, those who support me and whom I support in return—but for the most part, people in general? I hate the culture we've built. The lack of consideration, the blind rush to get ahead, and the disregard for anyone in the way.

This hit me hard recently, during what should have been a simple drive. I always try to be considerate, letting others out at tricky junctions if it's safe, to keep things flowing. But on this day, at a junction where both I and a driver opposite me were trying to turn right, I let her go first, flashing my lights to give her a gap. What followed wasn't a nod of thanks or a wave of acknowledgment—it was something entirely different.

She didn’t move at first. Instead, she frowned, swore, and gestured angrily. When another gap came, she pulled out, all the while glaring at me, shouting abuse, as though I had committed some unspeakable offense. I can only assume she thought I was being patronizing, perhaps even sexist, in offering her the space. But the truth is, I hadn’t even noticed her gender until moments after I flashed the lights. My intent was simple: to be kind, to help. Yet, it seemed to make her angrier.

This is what frustrates me most about the world we live in. We’re so used to fending for ourselves, fighting to survive, that when someone offers kindness, we question it. We curse those who speed past and cut us off, but when someone slows down to give us space, we’re suspicious. We’d rather struggle through alone than accept a helping hand.

And in moments like this, I find myself questioning my own role as an artist. How can my art make a difference in a world so bitter? How can a painting mean anything when people are so angry, so distrustful? The answer, I think, lies in who my art is for. It’s not for the people who refuse to let go of their anger and frustration. It’s for the misfits, the outsiders, the ones who see the world for what it is but still believe in something better.

My art isn't about waiting for the perfect moment or fitting neatly into society's expectations. It's about challenging the status quo, about saying: "I don’t have to follow the rules if the rules are broken." Much like that moment at the junction, I’ve learned that not everyone will accept kindness. But that doesn’t mean we should stop offering it.

Creating art is my way of trying to mend the broken pieces of this world. It’s hours, days, and years of pouring myself into something meaningful—something that, hopefully, reminds the viewer of the kind of person they want to be, or the life they want to live. In a world that seems hell-bent on thinking only of itself, my art is for those who still want to believe in others.

Yes, I get jaded, bitter, and feel like avoiding people altogether. I know I’m not alone in this. But art, for me, is the small gesture of hope that we can still think of one another. That when we drive, we’ll consider other drivers, other road users—and, more importantly, other planet users.

I may never fully understand why I was born with the need to create, why I paint, or why I've spent so much of my life exploring color, form, and texture. All I know is that it feels good. It helps me process the world, and it helps me understand myself. If my art can do the same for someone else—if it can give them a moment of peace, of reflection, of hope—then that’s enough.

In the end, I believe we can build a better world, one small gesture at a time. Whether it’s letting someone out at a junction or painting something that stirs a feeling, it’s all part of mending this broken place. I just hope we all remember that sometimes, it's the small acts of kindness that make the biggest difference.