Today I met with Dr. Tetriana, my PhD supervisor. This time our meeting was very structured and focused. We worked through the first, second, and third documents, discussing each section carefully and making necessary revisions. The most important outcome was that I left with a strong sense that I am on the right path. I can now clearly see the direction of my research and better understand the tasks ahead.
My immediate goals are straightforward: complete the two remaining courses—Malay Language and Research Methodology—and publish in one or two academic journals. After that, the path becomes even clearer: focus on writing the dissertation and creating artistic work without unnecessary distractions.
What I feel most strongly today is relief. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Clarity brings a particular kind of freedom.
I often think about how fortunate I am to be studying at a university. There is a unique freedom in academic life—a freedom that exists in both depth and breadth. I am free to explore ideas, connections, and questions that matter to me. I love this feeling of lightness in action and rhythm, where each step contributes to a larger process of understanding.
Lately, I have been reflecting on the idea of freedom in artistic practice. What does it mean to express myself freely?
I have come to realize that freedom does not mean the absence of structure. Freedom exists within the reality that surrounds me. It comes from moving with intention rather than following every passing desire. I work within a specific cultural heritage, a particular history, and a defined research framework. Rather than limiting me, these conditions give shape to my work.
My freedom is not found in unlimited themes or endless possibilities. It exists within meaningful boundaries.
I am a mother of two daughters. My creative time is limited to a few hours during weekdays. While I may experience freedom within the creative process itself, I am not free from the realities of time. Yet this is not a conflict—it is simply the landscape in which I work.
The same applies to artistic themes. There are subjects that do not call to me. Having grown up during the Soviet era, I find myself uninterested in many of the taboos and transgressions that occupy contemporary discourse. Themes of conflict between genders or provocation for its own sake do not resonate with my concerns.
What interests me instead is personal development, harmony, and transformation.
I am increasingly wondering how my artistic research can bring together the sacred and the everyday. How can I frame my work as a search for harmony and self-development? Perhaps this is already present in my research through the idea of inner landscapes and inner worlds. Perhaps understanding ourselves is inseparable from understanding the world around us.
Today I feel closer to these questions than I did before. And for now, that is enough. The direction is becoming clearer.