Myriad

I enjoy being creative.

Really, I do.

Well, I enjoy trying to be creative. How my attempts end up I guess is a purely subjective matter.

I have a theory that people who at least don't try to be creative are a little empty inside. I guess you could call them less fulfilled. People who have given up.

But then again, what the fuck do I know.

There is nothing I enjoy more than writing. And playing (or listening to) music. I guess reading slots in there somewhere too. And sex is of course up there, but this ain't about sex (although I guess you can argue everything is about sex).

What I'm getting at is that art is kind of what I'm about right now. I don't know who said it, but I know I heard it somewhere, "Work is how we live. Art is why we live."

Work may put food in my belly and a roof over my head, but art is the reason I wake up in the morning. In my mind art is more than just pretty pictures on a wall. It isn't merely the representation of what we feel inside, it is what we feel inside. Emotion is art. Or at least that's how I see it. I guess it's a kind of Beauty equals Truth idea. I think.

The way I understand it, art comes from our emotions. And the point of art is to bring out emotion in the viewer/reader/whatever. Even if that emotion is hate, as Bill would say. It's a break from the yearly, monthly, weekly, daily, hourly, minute by minute grind of the harsh reality that is our universe. It's a vacation from mediocrity and sterility. A way to vent and release. An emotional cleansing.

I enjoy being creative, I really do. I enjoy it a lot.