Sometimes you come across something that sticks with you. Gets in your craw. Refuses to be easily digested and passed along. Almost never is the something at you, personally. It is something you find in passing and that, I believe is the key. The Universe hides clues for us, to find and interpret as we will, as is appropriate to our journey at the time.
When Wine Dog posted about the death of Amy Winehouse, she commented that her soul was tortured and that's what made her art so good. It wasn't about me, wasn't for me, and, yet, it got stuck in my brain, in my soul, like an accusation. My soul is not that tortured, is that why I've never felt like an artist? Why I've spent so much time turning away from my art, even when it's the only thing that makes me feel whole? What if I can never truly be a serious artist because my soul is not that tortured?
By and by I realized a few things.
Bringing forth art, pulling it from your soul, from your psyche and birthing it into the world, fully, completely and truthfully rips into your soul, rending tears, holes, unleashing parts of yourself into the world for the eyes and critiques of strangers.
Is this not torture?
I also came to realize that I crave and fear pain in possibly equal measure. I passed so much time with dark shadows on my hear and soul that now, when I've finally learned to live in the sunshine, I feel a certain trepidation at the thought of going back.
And, yet, how can I live in a world without art? How can I live a life without creation? How cruel that what sustains me also serves to torment me.
I must walk a path of light and shadow. Joy and pain. Love and fear. This is my path. My challenge. My charge.
I hope only to prove worthy of the task.