I always knew that I was an artist…..long before I knew how to draw or paint.
It’s something inherent in me.
People are provoked by art and creativity, but they also seem to shy away from it. It’s portrayed as being frivolous, yet we’re surrounded by it on every level of our lives. That’s ironic.
I am reminded of the movie Castaway.
I love to use this as an example of the importance of art in our lives. Tom Hanks, playing the part of a Fed Ex type, upper manager, is in a company plane crash and stranded on a deserted island. Up until that moment in his life, everything hinged on speed.
On the island, his life slows down to REAL time. To survive, he begins to draw on the walls, of the cave, that is his new home. He draws a portrait of his girlfriend. He finds a soccer ball that floated in from the crash. He puts his hand print on it creating a face and names his NEW FRIEND, Wilson.
It was a devastating moment in the movie, when Wilson and he are separated by the tides. He screams for Wilson, as if he is a real person. Wilson has been an entrical part of his survival.
He builds a statue of sorts: a self-image. When he thinks he can go on no longer, he uses it in a mock suicide; yet chooses life.
He labors to build a raft, leaving the island and trusting the currents in the vast ocean to carry him home. He is successful in his attempt and is rescued by an oceanliner.
Now, he knows the difference. He has lived with the elements and survived, with the help of art. He cannot go back to his old life.
On the island, a package had drifted up as did the soccer ball. He carried that package with him through his ordeals. He was determined, to deliver~and as in the movies and sometimes in life~things just seem to work out perfectly~the recipient is a woman, who is not only beautiful but a metal artist, living in the middle of nowhere.
After attending this movie, that I cherish, I heard only complaints, of how it was so SLOW! They missed the point. The movie was about TIME.
That was ironic.
Christian Mihai’s blog is about all aspects of writing. In one of his posts he astutely describes what it is to be a writer.
There are those who are willing to shut out the world and rummage through their minds for memories they wish they had forgotten. The good and the bad, the tragedies, the pain, the bitter melancholy that engulfs all moments of happiness. By being alone, even in the most crowded of places, an artist is capable of understanding the world around him. All that he has gained, all that he has observed, lies behind a wall. He can jump over it and find the much needed inspiration to create art, or he can choose to write words.
There’s this wall. And there’s the artist on the other side. He just has to jump.
I HAVE TO JUMP
I am not a writer, but I am an artist.
I have the need to communicate. I am a part of humanity and if I take that jump, I connect.
It’s seems so frivolous.
What I use to fear would separate me, binds me.
Blogging is my art.