“I
didn’t come down here to change any of y’alls minds about anything; I come down
here to ease my own mind about everything.
It works every time.” – Todd Snider
Todd Snider has a point that he
makes repeatedly in his new book, “I Never Met a Story I Didn’t Like: Mostly
True Tall Tales”. The point is that a good
song writer writes their songs and their stories for themselves, not for the
audience. They write the songs as a
cathartic act, an act of breaking themselves open to draw out the poison and
whatever else may be in there.
I feel
like his point applies not only to song writers but to artists of any type
really. To make art, the best art, you
have to delve in to yourself. Your soul
is your paintbrush and the world is your canvas. The best art is made from raw emotion. It isn’t made with the audience in mind; it’s
done for the sake of the artist and no one else. It’s an act that is private and meant to be whispered
in the dark.
At
least, at the point of creation, that’s what it is. But the catharsis wouldn’t be complete if the
artist didn’t then share that private, secret piece of his/her soul. While art is meant to be created in private,
it’s also meant to be shared with the world at large. By doing this, the artist can find at least a
moment’s peace; a respite from the voices in their head or the emotions
stampeding through their heart.
I
believe that what we’re all ultimately looking for is for someone who can
understand us. Perhaps that is even more
true for artists. We can’t comprehend
the emotions inside us or the complex thoughts spinning through our
imaginations, and so we ask for help to understand them. Maybe
if I can get this thought on paper or find just the right brushstroke to convey
this feeling, then maybe someone out there will understand what it is that I
feel. If they can understand what I
feel, then maybe they’ll be able to understand me as well.
We’re
all seeking that companionship. The
world that we live in can be a scary place, but the worlds that live inside us
can be a thousand times more confusing and frightening. At times we feel things so strongly that we
think our hearts may burst out of our chests, then at other times we want
nothing more than to collapse in on ourselves, as if there were a blackhole
inside us, pulling everything inward.
These feelings and these thoughts
can be terrifying. Our feeling can
overpower us, and in our inability to understand our own souls, we desperately
search for those out there that may be able to understand us better than we
understand ourselves. All art is born
out of confusion and a need for understanding.
We put our questions down in song, in writing, in pictures or
sculptures. We hold our art out in front
of us like a Help Wanted sign, hoping that someone will be able to save
us.
It’s a compulsion, this need to be
understood and to understand. Some lucky
few find that person that can understand them; sometimes that person is their
friend, maybe family, perhaps a lover (hopefully not all three). But from what I’ve seen, most people never
quite find that level of understanding that they’re seeking. They may get close, but it always manages to
stay just slightly out of reach.
I mention all of this for a
reason. I’ve been writing a lot
lately. Most of it is incomplete,
fragmented thoughts and emotions jotted down, scrawled on the back of a receipt
stuffed in my pocket or typed on five pages only to be buried beneath dozens of
other incomplete thoughts. Yet I still
find myself writing them. The problem
is, that I’m afraid. I’m afraid to share
the most personal thoughts in my head.
I’m not sure why. There isn’t anything particularly scary about
them, it’s just that they’re so deeply personal and so immensely confusing. I don’t understand them, yet I feel like I
should. I don’t like that sense of bewilderment
that comes with them. I know that I need
to get the thoughts out there, in to the world so that maybe someone can
understand. But that means giving up
control, and that is not my strong suit.
That being said, I am going to make
an effort to post some of my more personal work. I certainly wouldn’t call any of it art just
yet, but maybe someday, if I break down my own resolve enough, maybe someday
someone will consider it as such.
It’s hard to relinquish that control,
to admit that I couldn’t find the answers by myself. But maybe that’s what art really is, the act
of breaking open your heart again and again, just to show the world what’s
inside. So, be prepared, I’m going to be
trying something new here, after all, what have I got to lose?
“If
everything goes particularly well this evening, we can all expect a ninety
minute distraction from our impending doom.” – Todd Snider
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