Holding on a dying dream…
Why do I need art?
Since I was young, writing has been my therapy to keep me from going
crazy or to get out of the depressions that one drags along throughout
life. Especially when you feel out of
context from a very young age. You don’t understand anything around you, you
cannot find answers into the context, environment where you've been taken to be
born or to grow up. You are supposed to embrace that accidental way of
thinking, accidental culture and to give importance to those things you didn’t
choose, but they put it in your confused hands and your impressionable head.
You start to look for answer outside. You start to envision your dreams through
those books, comics, songs, poems, novels, pictures, paintings, through those who found a new way to express
their feelings, a new way to make themselves understood, new ways to take away
their frustrations and to find a meaning, a reason to live for… ART
However, when you have and feel those dreams and you pursue them for a
long time, for too long… In the end, they become nightmares. Maybe that is why I
have always been passionate about the lives of authors, whether their lives
were turbulent, difficult, or they barely managed to survive on writing or they
never managed to do it at all, or they did once they were already dead. These
lives are reflected in their works. I have not been able to resist traveling to
those contexts to try to imagine, to feel where that imagination came from,
those nightmares, those cursed characters to whom they managed to give life,
and you see them in those streets, in those battered apartments, in those
cafes. Arthur Rimbaud and his two extremely opposite lives in so few years,
William Blake and his obsession on doing everything by himself even if it means
do not eat for days, Allen Ginsberg or Jack Kerouac searching all over US, Mexico,
in Southeast Asia and North Africa for alternatives to a repression that was
strangling their insides, Dostoevsky’s torments when he was awaiting execution and at the last
second he was given a new life, Federico’s incomprehension searching for those
contained feelings, through theater and
poetry, Vincent Van Gogh painting out his inner turmoil, Banksy's denounce
through forgotten walls all over the world, Patti Smith’s ability to bring
light from all the losses of loved ones
All this has inspired me to take off that weight on my chest that I have been carrying around for so long, that backpack that is heavier with each passing year, through writing poetry. For me, it has been my way to play and connect feelings with images and words and let them fly.
Post Views : 30