There is a quality of madness associated with all great artists. They may try to deny it, but there is something within them that allows them to harness their creativity while forcing the rest of humanity to keep its distance. How then can an artist get in touch with humanity to create great works that are representative of the trials and struggles faced everyday by human beings? Perhaps this is why they are referred to as tortured artists. They are fighting against their nature to create a product that will satisfy their nature. It is a constant war with self and with the society they are try to represent and save.
The thing that scares me most is letting that madness free. I have kept a strong hold on the reigns all my life and I fear what will get out or where I will go if I allow that creativity to overrun me. To allow myself to be the empty vessel that the spirit pours into and I pour out. I don't want to loose myself...
But then sometimes I wonder, who would miss me? Who knows me well enough to see that I would be becoming a shell of what I was in order to reach my full potential and isn't that an ironic statement? Who would care? Who would support me? and what is the difference between being true to art and true to my art. Should I as artist fade to the background and let the work stand alone? and can I even do that? and what does that mean for who I am? and is the road of the artist always going to be lonely? Will I ever break down the walls and let humanity in even if it hurts?
I hate these feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, anger, frustration, fear, anxiety, and yet, the dark writer in my rejoices in them, it says to me, "look to those who came before you, those who also dealt with these issues and look what masterpieces came from them, you wanted to get in touch with the dark reality of humanity and here is your chance to write something that means something." But then I wonder if I will ever get back from there...Woolf didn't, Plath didn't, Hemmingway didn't... they were brilliant, tortured artists who left a strong vivid mark on the world, and yet, the world was too much with them, or for them, they could not stand to be here, the dark reality of humanity may have become too much for them...
As I get ready to graduate college I wonder what my mark will be on the world. and I wonder if I'll have to go it alone...I don't have anyone who can look at me and say "something's wrong let's go work it out, i'm here for you no matter what" and yet I am that for so many people, I am already pouring myself out and I can't do it anymore. I'm empty. I'm tortured. and I'm not sure it's making me such a better writer, it's just leaving me in a lot of pain; frustrated and confused. Maybe if I knew that my work, my art mattered to someone, maybe that would make me feel better about it, but I don't know if it does or ever will. What if I'm only tortured and I never become anything better? In my craft or sullen art I find solace but how long will that last, and is it ever enough?
No comments:
Post a Comment