Stories

Through the course of my life, there have been moments when, through the distractions of everyday life, I suddenly seem to see more clearly that which is, was, and always will be, beautiful. I do not know what makes life at these certain times so much simpler and more easily understood than at all other times when it is so impossibly complex, but these moments are undeniable and incomparable. My experiences, I believe, are slowly leading me toward a conclusion which, with age, becomes steadily more clear. I have no doubt that the conclusion I see now is but a small part of what I will see later in life, but for now, I make due with what I have seen, and what I have learned.

To me, life, and I suppose, success, seems rooted in two elements: that of living, and that of telling. Life ought to be lived, expirienced, tried, fumbled with, inhaled, and felt. Then, those experiences, tries, fumbles, breaths, and feelings ought to be recorded, shared, crafted, rememberd, and told. Then, as our stories feed off the lives we lead and the things we see and they then become the food of others' lives, they are birthed once again from memory into life, completing the perpetual cycle of stories. With each digestion, each transformation, each death, and each new birth, the stories grow - and with the stories, our lives. Art is not just entertainment, it is so much more enjoyable than just that. The 'gifted artist' is an misleading term. The true greatness of an artist is not in his recieving of a gift, but in his the giving of them. The artist creates life and death, happiness and sadness. By assuming - on a tiny scale, for a short while, and only on rare occasions - the role of creator, the artist gives us a glimpse of the divine that we can only rarely make out on our own. We owe no greater debt than that which we owe to the artists, the storytellers, and the muses of our history. Live. And tell.