Bron was tagged to participate in a bloggity meme 'Why I Write' and invited other bloggers to take part.
I don't often participate in these things because while I triumphantly plug away at this blogging/writing thing I know I am a big ol' clunky novice in this world of talents with Literature degrees and plush photos. But, I bang away because I know for sure that the only way to get better is to do. So, without further ado.....
Why I Write
Art is a strange little thing. We all have the capacity for it; whether it be through drawing, writing, seeing, creating, or just being. Children are the essence of art- nothing is ever too important or so demanding that there isn't time to stop and trace a pattern with their fingers or rustle through a pile of leaves. In the years before we start school we are all talented illustrators, fantastic story-tellers, gifted performers and observant souls. Then we enter a system where we learn to compare ourselves to others, to think in terms of right and wrong, to submit our stories and drawings and souls to judgement. Some of us are so connected to that part of us that the judgement makes us stronger and more determined; others, and I include myself in this group, simply stop.
Life without art can be remarkably easy. Logic, and order, and reason, are predictable, quantifiable, safe. If you work hard, you do well, get good results. I struggle to remember these years (from about 15-24) because I think, often, I wasn't present in them. I had switched off that part of my brain that questioned the status quo. I had feelings, of course, but I didn't engage them too thoroughly. I didn't need to. I may have been a robot or possibly abducted by aliens, just leaving my human-shell behind. Life without art was simple, orderly and comfortable. So very comfortable.
Then my human innards got dropped back in and life got messy. When I started acting, chasing art again, I started feeling again. Feeling deeply. And noticing: life, art, nature, the sky, the stars, the pain and the joy. It hurt. But I felt more alive. And I clung to that feeling, rode it like a wave of endorphins, fought for the rush and, some time later, crashed out on the shore. I had ridden the wave too far from my base and the people that inspire me, ending up a little broke and very broken.
Back to work. Logic, income and reason. I was lucky that I have both sides to my personality. This time though I remembered the wave, but for my soul and my health needed to find a way to ride it with a little more control. Perhaps with a little boat. This week a friend in the performing arts wrote on Facebook about how great it must be for visual artists, who can get together their materials and just DO. Instead of relying on a plethora of performing and technical artists, administrators, venues, media, and underlying it all, money, to be able to realise a vision. That is what writing is for me. Something I can just DO. In my own time, at my own rate, without relying on other people, or things, or money. A way that I can take the heat of my own soul and mould it into a wondrous thing and so triumph (not my own words sadly, paraphrased from "The Libertine" by Stephen Jeffreys).
I write because it helps me be. It connects me to this world and encourages me to delve deeper. I photograph because it helps me see and reminds my to look for the beauty in all things. And I share it on the internet because I never want to lose my ability to communicate, my art.
Well, Nicole, those literature degrees can go jump (wherever they are) because this 'why i write' was one of the loveliest I've read, for sure. The connection of writing with art is one that fascinates me - the crafting, the creating, the building. You seem the same! Your photos aren't half bad either ;) x
ReplyDeletePS - Thank you for your kind words about my blog too.