Saturday, December 19, 2015

This Is Art

"Life is too precious to spend it writing tame, conventional stories to which you have no personal attachment." 

- Tom Spanbauer

This
is a piece of art.
These words and the act of
putting thought to paper and gaining something beautiful from it.

There's art in the way different combinations of letters and sounds affect you, in the way you open your eyes in the morning and the last thing you breathe in before you go to sleep.

Are you an artist? You are. You are human, you create. Art is creation, but it is also observing the ordinary.

You are an artist if you search beyond the mere facts presented to you in this world, if you use what you see to create an alternative that better suits your ideas. In the same way an impressionist painter might take a garden scene and transform it into an utterly different- yet still recognizable- picture, an artist will take life and mold it whichever way they feel best.

So aren't we all artists? No one's reality, no one's art, is exactly the same as your own.

Who are you? What is your art?

Writing is mine. My art, my magic. I am inspired by Yoko Ono's Grapefruit and Sarah Gerard's Binary Star, to name a couple. Cosmo Sheldrake, who makes art out of sound. Elizabeth Gilbert's Big Magic and Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit have taught me to see words as the powerful medium for creativity they are. Elle Luna's The Crossroads of Should and Must, too. I want to write things that people understand, mostly, but sometimes the more artistic side of me grabs hold of the reigns and the words start to come forth on their own...

So I'm experimenting with language, here, as my art.

- - - - - - - - -

To feel like an otherworldly being, rub shimmer shadow onto your eyelids.

To feel like glitter, put on big headphones and play Crystal Castles (Alice Practice), Ladytron
(Ambulances) and Passion Pit (Sleepyhead). Walk around a big city at night. Let your steps fall where they may and don't be worried about whether or not you look drunk. You are, in a way, when your senses are so dazzled by the universe as they can be when you truly, fully let yourself go.

Throw your hands up in the air while you trip into a subtle dance in the street when you're waiting for the bus. If the rain touches your shoulders, your head your heart you own it and you're
one with the rain now. Breathe it in. Believe in it. Twirl.

Embrace sunlight and sorrow, let your tears fall into puddles displaying rainbows in the morning. It's okay to want coffee and a pillow at the same time.

Your emotions are a form of art. You can't run away, so welcome them with open arms and let them point you towards the things you need to create, the things you are meant to pour forth onto this earth from some place deep inside of you.

Allow yourself to discover you.


I stay up late because it makes me feel like the world is mine
like the night belongs to the clatter of my fingers upon the keys
adorned in rings I wear like leather jackets
a method of protection
look at me I'm tough don't touch me
yet.

I walk alone at night to challenge the darkness
headphones over my ears like
sorry I can't hear you and I dare you
I dare you to drag me into the depths of your shadows. 

I push and fight back
claim the sturdy ground as mine and glare into the moon
standing, defensive against the night.

Yet I embrace it and it's within this embrace, within the clouds of silence and foggy breath that make up the hours between midnight and sunrise, that I am welcomed into a world apart. A world where the things I say are not heard and therefore no longer matter, a world where the words I write grow invisible as soon as their ink dries. A world where I dance through the streets to the music in my head and my feet flutter so lightly across the grass that I don't disturb a soul, and my dance may never have existed after all. 

A world which will be erased when the first rays of daylight break it's spell.

I stay up late and the swoosh of cars through puddles outside my window becomes my waking lullaby. I dream, eyes open, in stories crafted from images I willfully produce, not trusting my mind to sleep. 

During the day passerby stare at the circles under my eyes and the glitter falling from my lashes… and they wonder.

I let them. 

I am a creature of the night.


Sometimes the best places are the ones where nobody knows your name.

Places where the beat of your heart becomes the music, wild, filling your lungs with flashing lights and the world is titling, falling, sideways but you're standing straight against the wall and the music is thumping, it swings you side to side you can feel it in your blood.

You want it to be wilder, crazier, you spin around and around and around and try to bring that feeling back, that euphoria, it's still there you can taste it just within your reach, you can't stop can't ever stop because you are glitter falling from the sky and the music wrapping around your body, you are the reason to laugh until your lungs ache and you've finally found an excuse for the way your tears echoed like thunder on the day your heart shattered.

You're insane, and you love it.

You want to dance in the streets, drip emotion like sweat, wander through broken alleyways decorated with the memories of your ancestors. You want to taste the color of the stars while you
eavesdrop on the shadows of the street.

You stop acting, playing the part of whoever you are during the day. Instead you let yourself go and dance faster, madly, you want to cry, scream, you're bursting with the beauty of it all and it feels like forever is now...

Then the night ends and the hard edge of day is like a dull knife prodding your eyelids, whispering, caressing… You fear the truth dawn will reveal as it drags the sunrise away.



"No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist." 

- Oscar Wilde