Lately I’ve been reading about dark psychology and influence, and one idea that caught my attention is the rule of reciprocity. At its core, it’s the notion that when someone gives, the other person feels compelled to give something back. It’s one of those hidden forces shaping how we interact, often without us realizing it.
In my current work in progress, I’ve been roughing in the tree bark and the heart. The bark feels protective—layer upon layer, textured and timeworn. The heart is raw, exposed, and alive. Together, they mirror the tension between giving and withholding, between vulnerability and defense.
Art itself carries this same rule. Every time I put something out into the world, I’m offering a piece of myself. What comes back is unpredictable—a comment, a connection, a sense that someone else understood what I was trying to say. That exchange may not be equal, but it matters. Without it, creating can feel like sending signals into a void.
The rule of reciprocity can be used to manipulate, but in art, it feels different. It’s not about obligation. It’s about resonance. When I share honestly, I’m not demanding anything in return, but I remain aware that something may echo back. That rhythm—of giving and receiving—becomes part of the work itself.
As I move forward with this piece, I’m holding onto that idea: the bark and the heart, the protective and the exposed, each offering something. And in time, something always comes back.
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