2008-11-17
i can fly
I wish I could be an Artist.
Not as a lifestyle or livelihood, but as a mode of existence- the mode of existence. Then everything could penetrate my vision in a dramatic, ridiculous way, and my sensory intake- both of what exists in the outside world and what I imagine or suppose to be there- would inspire me to stirring, chaotic, rapturous interpretations of it all, which would manifest itself all under the ultimate defining feature of the artist: creation.
I see renderings of someone's interpretation of something everywhere; these manifestations permeate my life to the point that sometimes I don't even notice anymore. Art becomes more a given and an expectation than some exquisite creation. Aestheticism is requisite.
The design on this cup, though, someone thought of it, someone thought about the world and its stuff and its peoples and then they thought some more, or they felt some more, or something, and then, using that stuff and the stuff in their heart and mind, they made this drawing. I want to do that.
What do I create? I craft essays. I create my hair into a ponytail. I want to make stuff. My own clothes, my cup, my own songs, some books, some foods, some drawings- all those modes of creation that have become convention, and then also some new ones. I want to feel the stir that gives me the nudge to act on all this potential energy. I wish I could let myself feel that stir, to let the wind of vitality whisp me off this precipice that there's no firm rock beneath and so I have to (artistically) craft my own wings or method of flight.
I would like to succumb to some drama, even if (or perhaps especially because) I am my own source of it.
I wish I could be an Artist. I want to create more.
leesah-likes at 12:18 a.m.