WRITING

I have never been able to stress enough how important I consider artistic creation among the efforts of humanity. To put it simply, with the possible exception of certain, extreme measures taken to further the propogation of life, like maybe the space program, I consider it the single most important thing humans do. From a well cooked meal to a well manicured front yard to a good punk band to the Sistene Chapel, when we create art, we define who and what we are. That inexpicable need that so many people claim they require subservience to some irrational and annoyingly petty deity to fulfill, I quell through appreciation of art.

So many gaze into the void and are afraid, afraid that there is no meaning, no natural beauty. Science and reason are boogums to the modern man because they admit the possibility of, not only a lack of universal meaning, or human importance, but the true possibility of objective fatalism. As your mind creates an abstract image of the entirety of creation in space and time, trying to focus in on the single dot that says, "You are here," the soul might recoil from the implication that humanity is just another pointless cog in a functionless machine. Through art, we fashion our own meaning, our own purpose, and most importantly, we leave, in some small way, our mark on existence. We raise ourself up eye to eye with creation and gaze upon it as equals.

I indulge, in a brass display of audacity, in most forms of art, but there aren't many that I ever expect to be anything more than a hack at. Writing, on the other hand, while I'm still new at it, is the art that intuitively appeals to me. Writing, even bad writing, feels natural in a way that say, painting or dancing, never would. I don't promise a lot through these contributions, but they are there for everyone, especially me, to derive what enjoyment or inspiration that they might.