As someone who loves to write and has been writing for years and years, I love the idea of having a blog associated with my art business. It is yet another way to express myself and communicate to you, the reader and lover of art, my thoughts and perspectives on an array of subjects.
I've started half a dozen books and walked away from all of them because I never liked them enough. I have journals and journals full of poetry and thoughts, diaries brimming with accounts of my days and what I experienced during them.
For more than half of my life, I've been writing. Much of my life is documented, and for that I am grateful. I go back to the books I have started and wish I kept going because time brings perspective and we are always so hard on ourselves in the moment.
I love letting words and phrases bubble out of me and the feeling of pouring my soul out through ink onto clean white paper. I allow the therapy of a good journaling session to ease the sting of pain and sadness that comes and goes with the tides of life.
Writing has been and always will be a part of me. Just like art. So let the two meet, and form what they will.
Very recently I was told in a letter that "I have nothing to write about but emptiness now" because much of my belief system and worldview has changed.
I wanted to allow myself to become a victim because of this statement. I wanted to stay angry and hurt and shake my fist at the injustice of such a statement. I wanted to prove this person wrong by writing a New York Times Best Seller! (I mean I do, but this is the wrong motivation to do it)
But then I realized something and it's something I think I will come back to for the rest of my life in difficult situations: It's just the human condition.
The Human Condition. Oh, the lovely, messy, beautiful, horrifying, human condition. Where people get hurt and hurt others. Where the wrong words are said and can't be taken back. Where our feelings are damaged and we don't know how to handle ourselves. Where we want others to think and behave just like us because it would validate everything we hold dear. Where we are desperate for love and community, recognition, and understanding.
The Human Condition. One of suffering, sadness, love, and gladness, disaster, and joy, anger, and laughter, happiness, depression, anxiety, fear, loneliness, desire, passions, torment, pain, excitement, care, compassion, dirt, grime, toil, and thoughts, and voices. Life and death.
The human condition is the one I am living in and it's the one you are living in too. Beyond everything that makes me, me, and you, you we are all just in the human condition. And should I really expect anything less? Should I honestly believe that when feelings are radically hurt people won't respond within the boundaries of the human condition? I don't think I should even though I wish I could.
I've been writing for eighteen years of my life. I will continue to write in the private places of my life and now, in this public space. One day I will write a novel; I will finish my book.
I have a lot to ponder as of late, and a lot to think about when it comes to the unanswerable questions in life. Yet it's oddly comforting to know that every single person alive right now has the human condition in common. And that's a condition none of us will shake until our dying breath.
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