Artistic - an essay
They tell us as children that we've been blessed with a gift. We learn while we're small that we've the ability to express our thoughts on paper, with colors and images, using crayons and markers. We revel in our creations as they post them on the fridge and their office desks to show off our talents to the world. We're so proud then. Proud of ourselves, and our parents who foster our creativity. Something happens as we grow older. The emotions of adolescent years are not as easily expressed in the simple creations of our childhood. Our hands fumble at the paper and the pencil struggling to make it something our parents will still be proud to share.
Then they break the news that although as children we could be anything we wanted too, what they failed to mention that as long as what we do will profit us, and them as they age...we can be that. We struggle to create, to express, to relate our own style. To become individuals in our art, our life, our emotions. Those around us that could never understand the processes our brains must maintain laugh at our struggles as they lack the details it takes to relate. We tire as we learn that there will never be the time it takes to create in life what we imagine while we still must pay bills, and maintain ourself enough to continue in creation. Our emotions overwhelm us, and we can no longer express them all...Our friends seem normal, and we long for that at the lowest moments...we curse at what it has taken from us...and what we still cannot do with it. At some point we listen as those with analytical potential strain to explain why we are the way we are.
They pretend to know what we have, and how it works. The examine it like an illness, a sickness that we're born with, and they look for ways to cure it. Ways to calm us, to make it so that we now longer have the need to create. They push us down, give us nothing for our efforts, laugh at our creations, and hope that they can soothe our minds, and integrate us into normality. For they could never understand that what courses through our veins, has given us the need to create since we were once created.