(Dis)comfort

“The poet’s, the writer’s, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past.” – William Faulkner

Nothing is as beautiful as we can imagine it. Yet, there would be nothing unless we’d imagine it first.

That’s the thing… the constant aspiration towards what doesn’t exist…yet.

Frustrating, indeed.

We are who we are because we spend most of our time dreaming of becoming much, much more.

And art has the habit of showing us what is possible.

Art asks the question: “What else is there?”

What else is there for us?

What more can we gain from life? From ourselves? From others?

Also, art gives us hope.

We are not unique… our worries and troubles and feelings are not that special…

Others have been where we are, others have struggled with the same issues, others have conquered the same demons.

There’s a great deal of value in that. Far more than we are willing to accept.

Psychologists claim that listening to music is the only activity that engages the entire brain.

Stendhal Syndrome, where a person is so impressed by a work of art, that it provokes faints and such.

Imagine that.

Art is beauty, and you know what they say about beauty…

Beauty will save the world.

Sooner or later.

Whether we want it to or not.

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