The Meaning of Art

Late night blog writing, oh how I love thee. So I was asked today why I love Shakespeare, apparently no one my age in fact reads his plays—or at the least not for fun. As the conversation persisted I was asked, “well are you artsy? You have to be artsy to like Shakespeare.” Well I would have argued, but the thing is I am artsy and love my art. In all reality the conversation was mindless, at least during the time, but it did get me thinking. Why do I love my art in the way that I do? I don’t think it’s just because I made it, saw it or in some rare cases even wrote it. But its where I can just be me, I don’t need to explain myself, the interpretation is up to the viewer.

The viewer can not judge me, at least not harshly, for what I create for that reason. My past is bright in many areas, but just as everyone else I have those dark spots. My art lets out that pain, sometimes the hate that I turn inwardly and this is safe for me because they see what they want, not what I wrote (in most cases).

I show people with my art things that I would never be able to say, not because I don’t want to as many people have misinterpreted it to mean, but because I can not find the words. The words do nothing but evade me. It leaves me alone, depressed, and often spiraling. My art is what saves me. This is why I love art, not just my art. For the simple reason of being reminded that I am not alone, everyone feels the way that I do at least at times. 

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Zombie Land is not Somewhere I Want to Be

This post is probably going to be a bit different then my previous ones, saying it’s the first one I have written in who knows how long. More personal and kept more like a journal. MyTwoCents, my mind in a nutshell.

I was just recently dumped, twice, which of course any breakup is hard but one of these boys I thought I was honestly going to marry. He was ‘the one’. I obviously was not. Which now looking back on everything I can see two things. One the relationship was unhealthy, two I have turned into something that I never thought I would be. I have learned that taking direction was the only way to get along with this said male. I have become a mindless zombie that can’t think for herself. How disgusting is that? I would spend hours thinking about the next comment or request he would make, most of which he would not actually make. But I would spend hours cross-legged in front of my laptop freaking out. What a waste of time.

It has been a long time since I have been single, I have either been in a committed or non-exclusive relationship for 5 years. Being single is something that I have never done well, for several reasons. I am a flirt, I think its fun and often don’t recognize I am flirting. This by itself would not be that bad but compiled with my ‘why the hell not?’ logic, nothing good ever happens. I attract the people that have major problems (probably because I have some stuff I deal with too and feel that is all I deserve—but this is another tangent). I have put so much time into these relationships—which were often abusive—yet put no time into the thing that I truly have to live with. I can move on with the people in my life, if they dump me or if it is the other way. I can run as fast and as far as I want. But I can never get away with myself, I have to live with myself. Therefore I need to put time into myself. Nothing is more important.