Wednesday 28 January 2015

Prussian blue

Blue. The feeling. The feeling of Prussian blue. Deep, vast blue. Lonely blue. Filled with memories.

Are we as a race doomed to self destruct? Are we doing anything else? Is anything we do not destructive?

Where is the line drawn between destruction and creation? Nothing really disappears. My body is new now, seven years ago I was a completely different person. Every cell in my body has been renewed since then. Every single cell, every atom has been something else. The body that I had when I was born is something else now. What is it now? A bird? A different person? A flower? A hat? Probably. 

I'm painting and crying and painting and questioning why I keep caring about people. And I answer. 

I need to. Everyone needs to care. We are humans and need interaction, interaction needs care. Love. How can I not love everyone when they could be me? Strangers that I meet are built from the same stardust and dinosaur poop and old trees and forgotten beasts and feathers that I am. The people I love are built from atoms that might have lived in my body. We are physically connected by this little planet that we try so hard to kill. 

I want to paint the feeling of staring up into the summer sky and it's so clear that - even though it's daytime - you feel like you can see out into space, right through the atmosphere. I want to paint the feeling of dizziness after lying on your back and looking up and suddenly feeling like you'll lose your grip of the planet and just soar... 

I want to paint the pain in love and the anger in caring, the sickness of our race, the constant stupidity and beauty that is life. It's worth the pain even though I can never paint that, even though my paintings are infantile and stupid, even though my art will probably never mean anything to anybody. It's worth the pain of wanting to make something beautiful. To having salt in your face from all the tears but still pressing the last few drops of Prussian blue out of the tube. 

The feeling of love is worth the pain of having idiot friends, the feeling of creativity is worth the pain of creativity. 

Today I started taking my new meds. Even though I don't want to. I want the pain because I need the creativity, I want the need to paint a feeling, I need the anger and sadness and frustration to make something even a little bit good. I need to be me if I want the chance to breathe life into my art. And it's worth the pain even though the art is bad. 

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