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As an Artist

March 2, 2017

 

 

 

The daisies that walk slowly on the sidewalk beside you sing peacefully and wave amicably at the sun. Colours pour and mix and captivate without the use of a single brush, just a glance. There is no relation to time and space, yet everything relates. Everything means something, and every something is art. You are hard-wired to be more sensitive to the smallest of details and respond to them by expressing yourself. Creatively. Emotionally.Thoughtfully. As an artist, you know that everything may not be art, but it can be art.

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It’s 1am and on the way out from the club your friends are calling a cab, but you are frozen in the street, probably blocking a doorway, staring. Your heart swells at the sight of a street performer on the corner. His eyes are open yet he is not looking to the left, the right, or in any earthly direction. He is in looking into his own universe; one where his heart beat counts the minutes and his mind runs free. Art is a language, you say, as you breathe in his melody and let it intoxicate you. He doesn’t utter a word yet you understand him.

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“You can do it on the side” he said, eyes unimpressed yet apologetic at the same time. “You need to make money... push our family forward.” You stand pinned to the ground, more conflicted than you were a minute ago. Though you are processing these statements, your subconscious is stuffing her clothes and some brushes in a backpack, and catching the next bus to the next unknown destination. “Hmm?” he mumbles, and the scene vanishes, leaving you gasping for something. You are determined. You will do both.

/

You are sitting. There’s an insatiable itch at the back of your head, that’s triggered every time you see a blank spot in the canvas of the world. You are overcome by ideas, and you write and draw and sing and laugh and dance and cry and create and break and create again and smile. Then, just as you lower your hand from the back of your head, after a satisfying scratch, the itch infests again.

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You see the world as so big that there are a million more places to travel to, yet so small that you feel like you can hop to them. And hop to them you will.

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As Artists, You Question.

Is art a lens? A trait? A gene? A genre? An adjective? A noun? A lifestyle?

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You create. He is staring at your sculpture. “What do you think? What does it mean to you?” you ask. He proceeds to explain how the shape, the colour and light build a meaning that you had never thought of before. You are awestruck, and you stare at the sculpture which now resembles nothing you had ever touched. This is the reason, you say and sigh. Art is so adaptable and moldable and personal and beautiful. It brings people together and, inversely, creates for them a special identity. It’s a language. You Express parts of you that you never show . You Communicate with art the words that were never created. You Understand one another through a deeper emotional bond. This is the reason! This is the reason you create.

 

 

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Vidya Golla