“Words can create love or hate, tears or smiles, harmony or chaos, war or peace. Choose your words with care.” – A.D. Williams
The truth is, words are meager things. I know this, because words are my profession. Words are what my soul is made of. And I know that sometimes words fail to express certain depths of the human soul.
When words fail, tears fall. When words fail, the world’s beauty is no longer enough to make us feel alive. Words can hurt, yes, but the most harm they ever do is when you choke before you utter a single word.
The most powerful feelings, the invincible essence of humans, that cannot be written about. For it was not written into existence, for it was not imagined into being. It was given to us, not taken, not invented, not surgically grafted onto our souls.
Words are our creations. Words and ideas. All the things we can imagine, all the dreams we lock inside the most hidden drawers of our souls. But we…we are limitless. We are infinite. We are invincible.
We are not the words we speak, or the ones we write. We’re not even the ones we wished to have spoken. We are not images or memories or song lyrics that say all that we cannot. We are what we feel, what makes us alive, what makes us glad. We are what makes us happy, scared, or lonely.
We are not of this Universe. We are not a moment in time and space. We are the Universe. We are the consciousness of this world, the Universe trying to understand itself. The Universe asking the only question that never seems to have an answer: “Who am I?”
Art. A simple word, covering all the beautiful aspects in life. Three letters, used to sum up hours of crying, unrecognized feelings and emotions, loneliness or substance abuse. If you are not falling apart, you can’t have the word. Art is not meant to describe your happiness, but to make others happy. One’s misery can easily turn into someone’s rock, if you know how to polish it. Continue reading
“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.
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.
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.
TMM – The Midnight Muse. A series of posts about inspiration, the creative process, and finding the courage to create, regardless of what or how you are feeling.
Apparently, there’s a clear link between memory and imagination. The better memory you have, the more imaginative you are as a person.
All art is born out of chaos. It is a person’s way to create order out of said chaos. It is a million different thoughts and ideas and feelings and memories strawn together to form something that wasn’t there before.
The muse is born out of this chaos… out of a plethora of experiences. Too much knowledge for one person to handle. Your hard drive must be full.
That is what must happen for you to create.
All art is born out of chaos. The neverending battle between what we know and what he have yet to know, about what we feel and what we would like not to feel, about what we have and what we wish we had, about who we are and who we desire to be.
It’s been a long time since I wrote a post in this series. I do not write that late at night anymore. I go to sleep way sooner than midnight nowadays.
But I do find that inspiration has no schedule.
To those of you who have no muse today, tonight, tomorrow: wait. Do not worry, for it does nothing but hinder your inspiration and ability to concentrate.
To those who have found your muse: use it. Abuse it. Have fun. Enjoy.
To all the rest: I have no idea what you’re doing here, on this blog.
Feeling down? Sad? Lost? Angry? So, so tired?
Why not art?
Why not art yourself back to happiness?
“No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell.” – Antonin Artaud
All art is rather useless, don’t you think? It has no survival value. It does not feed the hungry, it does not clothe the naked, it does not keep us warm…
But it does add value to our survival? Continue reading