Why I Have To Make Art

     Sometimes I wish I had the choice, but I know that after 36 years, this simply isn’t so. The colors pound like relentless tides against the backs of my eyes while my moods fuel the engine keeping these waves powered.  My feelings act as both compass and captain, directing focus towards a specific tone needed for articulation. This focus then aches to become something tangible, something representational, something created outside of my head so that this internal discussion can actually be shared with others in a visually visceral way.

    If I don’t create meaning from these amplified introspections, then I know in my heart that I’ve neglected to use the most important gift that the universe placed in us, being our imaginations.  If these insights, observations, experiences, and understandings aren’t manifested into some physical form, I know I then risk sacrificing the possible opportunity for communication, empathy, encouragement, and connection from taking place.

    Keeping our thoughts in only thought form helps no one. It’s the same as saying Thank you- or Sorry too someone, but by doing so only in our own heads and not by actually saying it out loud to someone, so it ends up having no affect, no bearing, or benefit to anyone else. When we create something, we then and only then are able to show a valid appreciation for what we feel and think. This not only lubricates our imagination as too keep it running smoothly, but it also helps us when trying to connect with others. Without connection, we become traffic, obstacles, and unvisitable islands in other people’s worlds.  What real use is even the prettiest of islands if no one will ever step foot upon its shores.

     Sometimes I wish I could turn it off, to not have to build the ideas, and to be grateful enough just for having them, but I’ve tried this and learned that the longer an idea hangs around in my head, the more weight it gains, and in quick time it changes from that initial spark into a debilitating anchor, pinning down my smile while planting doubt in my faith. My constitution tells me that inaction equals fear, fear to reach out, fear to open up, fear to touch another, and the fear of executing something that doesn’t shed light and rather confusion.

    This is why I don’t really have a choice in it all. The balance between the daydream and the action that comes from the daydream is where I either find my pain or my peace. I can only hope that at the end of each passing day I can say with some degree of certainty that I am at least growing more comfortable with the process of it all, regardless of whether there are wars taking place on my battlefields or sunsets sinking easy into a job well done.