Nothing, Nothing - THe Art of Erick Moya

I can picture someone reading this, then staring at the artwork a little too long, trying to decode it. What was going through his mind when he drew this? Was he a tortured artist? What kind of childhood leaves marks like these? Is this just expression… or something else entirely?

There was a time when drawing came naturally. Now it feels like something I have to fight my way back to. Time is scarce, motivation even more so. Maybe it’s the gap between where I am and where I want to be. I know the only way forward is practice, but when you’re pulled in a dozen creative directions, it starts to feel like you’re chasing everything—and mastering nothing.

AI has taken hold in a way that changes the conversation before the work is even seen. I share a photograph, a drawing, a film—and the first question cuts through everything: Is this AI? It says a lot about where we are now. The internet is saturated with synthetic imagery, and even our instincts hesitate. You look twice. Sometimes three times. And still, you’re not sure. It makes me wonder if drawing, something once rooted in time, effort, and touch, will slowly disappear into a world where images are simply… requested.

I’ve always enjoyed drawing by hand, but digital work—especially in Adobe Photoshop—has become a space where I feel freer. It’s forgiving. You can push, pull, erase, rebuild. There’s less fear in making mistakes.

This drawing came out of a darker moment. I was overwhelmed, caught in a loop of stress and intrusive thoughts that started to shape my day-to-day reality. It was during the COVID lockdown—a time when the world paused and many of us were left alone with our own minds. For me, that meant sitting at a desk and letting those thoughts take form.

The image of pulling my own heart out became symbolic. It wasn’t about violence—it was about confrontation. A way to externalize what I was feeling and communicate something I couldn’t quite put into words.

There was a moment I remember clearly—standing in Hobby Lobby with a large sheet of paper in my hands, wondering if I was about to waste both time and money. When I drew this, I was convinced it might not amount to anything.

Years passed. I found it again, and it felt different. Like it had been waiting for me to come back to it with new eyes. That’s when I decided to share it.

I framed the original and gave it away, so now it exists somewhere beyond me—on a wall, in storage, or maybe gone entirely. But I still have this image. And maybe, in some way, it will connect with someone else.