Art is Life
My art keeps me
Without the words unfolding,
Without the paint drips,
Without the sound of the flames as they whip through the air around me.
I would be dead.
It sounds melodramatic.
It's not hyperbole.
The worst things are often so
Eventually, suffering gets boring.
My art gives life. It brings vulnerability and validation.
It is the breeze moving ink and paper clouds.
Bringing cool moments of respite and balance.
Art lifts spirits and heals wounds. Our deepest wounds are invisible,
fixed by the softest touch of reassurance,
the quiet nod of shared rage and suffering,
the moment the words sink in and we finally feel like we are not alone,
if only for a moment.