What writing does, or any art really, is capture and recreate a certain feeling you find yourself in. A feeling springing from another person, the lack of another person, a beautiful view, or a serendipitous sound. Little things, big things, things that touch more than just your fingertips or your retinas. These are the feelings and the moments in a day that stir something inside you, that make you thank god you’re alive. You can’t put a finger on it, but if you’re an artist, you can put it into words, maybe watercolours.
Art expands the fleeting, it is a reminder of the elusive. Art makes us feel something and that’s because that something was, in some corner of the world by someone before, felt and consequently turned into art. It’s a full cycle. It’s recognition across humans.
So it is entirely ridiculous to consider art to be unimportant in our society today. Don’t cut it from education or business. Just don’t. Because that feeling that we sometimes find ourselves in, and then find in pieces of art that resonate in our beings – recognizing a feeling from inside in the world outside makes you feel less alone, doesn’t it – is art itself and just because you decide to call it irrelevant dilly dallying does not remove it from your soul, or that collective – even if elusive – serendipity you notice yourself become nostalgic over in your routine. You feel a fleeting sense of understanding of who you freely are and why you are alive and some special person knew how to put it on paper to remind us busy, silly, wonderful humans that a soul is a happy thing.
These are some of my happy things along with a little soul.