Finding Myself
“Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?” ―
Each of us has some great hurt in their life, but the musician, the poet, the author, the artist most of all. What else could spur someone to bare their soul, and then leave the object of their creation to be judged by the fickle eyes of society? Society, who so often sees the arts as pointless. Only one who has already had their heart and soul torn down could ever beg to have it ripped anew.
I could talk for hours about my life and my struggles, but they still sat on my shoulders. I never felt they were in the past, I only relived my own worst moments, they played through my mind on a twisted loop, as I tried to make sense of them. My thoughts whirled and anxiety ate me alive. Yet, I found I could spend hours painting and living in the moment. I could spend a day in the studio and not spare a thought for anything other that the events of that day. There are many moments that brought me to where I am today, and there was joy and triumph among the suffering. Know this, the suffering is what made me create. The hurt of life gave me no choice but to express it. Making something for my own purpose, instead of a class assignment, quickly brought me back to the reason I was so taken with art in the first place. It was my escape. When the mood strikes I can spend hours focused on nothing else. Simply, I lost myself in something wholly different to myself. I found myself enraptured by the feel of wet paint on my hands. I had made art a thousand times before, but never like this. It was like I was suddenly alive again, and not just a shade of what could have been. All at once, an easel stood in front of me, not a pulpit. This time, I made my eulogy with a brush.
- mar