On Originality, Concrete, and Confidence

I recently started working on a new concept: exploring post-nature forms through raw concrete sculptures. I was excited. It felt like I was opening a new door. But then, as often happens, I showed it to a friend. And they said: “Have you seen this other artist’s work?”

So I looked.
And I was shocked.
The resemblance was uncanny: not just in material or form, but in intention. For a moment, I froze. I almost gave up. That sinking feeling: “Maybe I’m not original after all.”

But then I thought of rap.
In the ’70s, artists like DJ Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash, and Afrika Bambaataa weren’t just playing records: they were inventing a whole new way of making music. The first MCs started speaking over beats, turning rhythm into poetry, creating something that hadn’t existed before. That was original. But then others joined in: Rakim, Nas, Lauryn Hill… not copying, but building on the form. Each brought their own voice, their own angle.

It could’ve been anything else: painting, sculpture, architecture, dance. The pattern repeats: someone opens a door, others walk through it, reshape the space, and push it further. That’s how cultures grow.

You don’t have to be the first.
You just have to be true.
Your voice matters: especially when it’s honest.

Later I stumbled across this video:
The Creative Act: Rick Rubin on Embracing Imitation and Finding Your Voice

It helped me breathe again.
Not because it gave me permission: but because it reminded me: creativity doesn’t live in a vacuum. It grows through observation, transformation, and presence.

Back to the studio.