The Rawness of Art

Art is a form of communication; it explains to others what spoken words cannot, or dare not. An admirer might paint a beautiful picture of a flower for the subject of their admiration, yet never give a real one. Art is an outlet of emotion from which springs the essence of ones soul. It lets other's see, hear, touch, or read what you are experiencing inside, because our feelings are nearly impossible to communicate with our inept language. Painting, Sculpting, Movies, Dance, Writing. I find it ironic then that I have chosen writing, our pathetic language, as my art form; you are now receiving pieces of my soul.

Some people tell me, "...your writing is so depressing. Why do you always write this way?" I have thought about it and my conclusion is that art comes from the soul; what the soul is feeling. I write because I feel something. When I write out of boredom, or if I force myself to, to simply put words on the page, the words are dull, boring and meaningless. When I write from my soul, they at least make the reader get a taste of what I am feeling, even if the feelings are dark, dismal and depressing. My blogs are not simply random ideas that pop into my mind which I quickly jot out and throw onto a web page so a few people who are stuck in a rut of boredom can skim then go onto the next blog, or the next web page, or the next hobby. I write so that I can express myself to myself because even I don't understand my own emotions sometimes, or where they come from. Even if I do understand their beginnings and origins, sometimes real life has frustrated them so much that the only way to express my emotions is by showing them for the world to see. For you to see.

So there you have it. You few readers, whether I know you or not. You are getting a taste of my life by reading these words. My moods are reflected upon the page and immortalized upon the web so that I can look back upon them and remember what my life was like in the past. I write the mood that I am in, whether it be pensive, lonely, humorous, or lost. You are not merely reading some white words on a dark background, you are seeing my life through a magnifying glass as I felt when I authored these words. You are peering into my soul. You know me.