THE ART OF ART

 

The art of art. 

I don’t know what to call myself. I’m known as an orator, I’m seen as a rational thinker, but in truth, there is no category for me. If there's too much to you, must you simplify yourself to not confuse? I don’t show "myself" much, but I show myself much more than most. I hide by bringing to light my shadows. I am inside out. My words are visual art that shows what my soul looks like. I paint them on sidewalks, in bars, on roofs. They paint me, in veins, on bones, on my lips, and in my eyes. I have left streets vandalized by art that has vandalized me. We are the same. I am as vandalized as they are because I don’t belong to them. I am not, was not. I listened to the wind because the wind listened to stars. I only inspire because I am inspired. I write. A book, a novel, a verse, a song. I paint with hands and when they don’t do I paint a sound with my voice.

Imagine that all butterflies are artists; that they painted their own wings. Perhaps, some of them would

grow ambitious and the desire grew in them to fly higher and higher. Who then would see their art??

Who could gather any meaning or feeling if all they could see was a vague speck and a distant blur lost in

an infinity they cannot see, and much less comprehend?

Without question, they would know the clouds and the clouds will confuse them, where they are,

why they are, who they are. The clouds in the sky will become the clouds in their mind, and

they will forget.

There is a way that everything must be, but I could never accept that. I'm not a business person masquerading as an artist. They only see what they can, and want you to see no more than they. They place a limitation on artists, they force an imitation of artists. I do not know when the world changed, or how, or when it stayed the same. I am strange, and the way I see it is not the way most do. Somewould sell their soul to have a gift, but those who have the gift, are the gift. You may see it as a blessing, but the artist can see it as both a blessing and a curse. Because I am what I write, what I sing, what I paint, it is my sharpest reflection.
I cannot change it. As much as the rules say it can't be that way. As much as the world rejects it or accepts it, as much as it pretends it has anything to do with it; it does not. Even if at times it fools “me”, it cannot fool my soul. That which calls to you in the silence of the world is louder than the world. You feel it no matter how crowded the room, or how loud the ambiance, it is waiting for you in any place you choose to hide in. No matter how real the world feels; feelings are irrelevant to the truth. The world weighs more than my heart, but I can go on without it, but with something so tiny as my heart, I cannot.

I’ve had this trouble in my mind throughout my life; how do I decide what part of me aligns with what I can do? Many have told me what I can and can't do, what makes sense. I shouldn't write that way, I should study some other writers and write as they do. You must understand that the dumbing down of your aspirations is not difficult; It's easy, but if you feel that calling if you cannot sit alone in silence, it will eat you alive.

I've also been told I shouldn't use instruments that aren't common to a genre. In business this makes sense. You do what's proven; what works. There are formulas. This is why so many are so similar that they are interchangeable. Under this form of thinking I cannot both be a serious author and be into Hip-hop. I cannot sing one song that sounds alternative and another that sounds country. I would confuse people. What is he? People always want to know what you are. They want to know where to place you. The world wants you in a category. It wants you in a group because groups are easier to control. I like to think that I am no one and that the world does not exist, but If I must be something; then I am an artist. I express myself in any way I can, spiritually, and for the love of it because I believe in it. This is the art of art.