Art.

Art. It’s all around us. It’s not just the picasso hanging silently in an art gallery. Art is loud, and it is the essence of the human expression and emotion. Art is what gives the flesh, bones, and cells a meaning. Art is beautiful in that it is boundless. Never too much emotion, never too much passion. The brain creates images, motions, sounds, and gestures in a way that gives just a little meaning in a world of greys and blacks. Art not only represents those that are giddy and untroubled. It provides an escape for those with nothing else in the world. It creeps from the greys and streaks across the blacks, creating bleak yet colorful and passionate images for those without a voice. Only the ignorant ignore the passion that can be found in the darkness.

The first steps into someone else's darkness can be daunting. Through music or actions or drawings the rest of the world takes a peek into the mind of the bothered. Grief is one of the most potent emotions, second to only love. Every day, every person and creature in the world creates and adds art to the world through existence. Grief can put an instant stop to your art, to your existence. Whether your art ends with a twine rope swinging above your neck or with a stomach full of medication, grief takes your will to create, and butchers it to pieces. Grief is special. With the end of creation, it continues on. It’s passed on the family members, friends, and other creators of art. A color suddenly disappears from their palette and they must learn to create all over again, searching for their favorite color. Finding we are unable to create the masterpiece we call happiness without our favorite color, we mix and match other colors to replicate the ones lost, but they will never be exactly the same. With every life that withers away and with each one that is started a new color is created and another disappears from the world never to be seen again, and the only way to remember these colors is to view and appreciate the art that they created with their special color.

Loss is ironic. The loss of another person, whether through death or heartbreak, leaves a blank spot in their emotions. From there the person must act fast in order to find passion before grief crawls into this hole and starts to consume. The crazy thing about true grief is that it makes you feel like you won’t ever find passion to help fill the hole.

Demons. Everyone has demons. Some people hold their hands, walking dangerously close to flame and consumed in complete darkness. They are close enough to whisper to these people, filling them with the darkest shades of passion. Some people are tethered to their demons. Long enough to allow for distance at times but also close enough to affect the way they create. Then there are those that pretend they have no demons. They try to remain blind to the fact that they are always there, walking within view.

Sometimes an artist isn’t satisfied with the colors they were give to create with. Their demons whisper to them that their art just isn’t as good as others. That their colors just aren’t right, maybe not as bright as others or not as noticeable. These people either try to replace what they were given, or simply refuse to share their art with others because they don’t see the beauty in the work they have created. They don’t want to be hurt by others so they hide everything they have created.

Art is very selective in who it appeals to. Not everyone will appreciate your art and that is perfectly fine and completely normal. If every person in the entire world told you they appreciated you, would you believe everyone? How could you separate those lying just to protect your feelings from those that were truly affected by you and your art? The people that experience passion when they view you and what you have created. The goosebumps that rise out of every inch of skin when you speak, the hairs that stand on end and the pupils that enlarge and shrink every falling and rising tone in your voice. Or maybe the cage of rubber bands in your chest when you experience them. You feel a tightness in your chest yet you feel like a paused breath is being trapped there. Somewhere there is someone that craves your art and sees the beauty in it like nobody else ever will.

I have the deepest love for all forms of art and the creations that come from them. I have seen a lot of art, heard a lot of music and met a lot of amazing people in my lifetime. There has been some that have given me goosebumps, widened my eyes and sent chills down my spine. But no matter how many great things i see in the world and all that i know is out there, there’s one piece that nothing seems to come close to. It hangs alone, separated by miles and miles from even my most favorite things. It truly is a masterpiece and i have learned from the past few years of my life that this particular piece was the most unique.

. She’s the song that you listen to 800 times, and only on the 801st play-through do you finally understand what the writer really meant. She’s amazing like that. She is pouring down rain but she is also sunshine, she is a hurricane but also clear skies. She is destructive in the way that she can break you down and make you feel real and small, but at the same time she picks you up and gives you new meaning.

It would be impossible to describe my favorite art without first talking about love. We all love our friends and we love our family members. But when you love someone else, you take it deeper. You accept, unwillingly at times, whatever hurt that person ay bring to you.