thearchives-blog

[thearchives-blog]

I feel like something that isn’t discussed is the beauty of being an artist. Not just an artist who paints, but a person who creates. Regardless of medium. Because when you become an artist real life has so much more vibrance and beauty. You’re not just going about your everyday life. You’re consuming it. Drinking up every aspect of it. When you’re a writer you silently narrate your life’s scenes in your head. A bus ride is no longer a bus ride. A bus ride is your chance to see other people and create their story because lets just be honest, you’ll never speak to these people to actually learn what is really happening in their lives. The girl talking so loud you can hear her voice but not her conversation over your music is fussing with someone. Perhaps a boyfriend. He’s not showing her enough attention. The beautiful man walking on the sidewalk that you see every Tuesday and Thursday at around 4:22 because thats when you stand and wait at the bus stop is without his female companion today. They’re friends but there’s sexual tension there. Your life also turns into narration done in the third person. Emotions are easier to think about when they’re not yours. They’re more poetic. Less sloppy. It’s not just “I’m lonely” anymore. It’s “there felt like there was a hole in her heart. One that isolation had clawed out with its sharp spiny fingers”. It’s not just “Im in love” anymore. Instead it’s “her heart smiled whenever she thought of him. He invaded her thoughts whether it was daytime or night, whether she was doing something as menial as washing dishes or as important as writing a story that was 70% of her final grade. He always made an appearance. Regardless of what was preoccupying her.” When you’re an artist in the sense that is drawing and painting you don’t just take in the world as something that is one and is fluid. You notice how the light reflects off of a notebook turning it from white to a translucent purple color. Or how the light catches the cargo pants of a classmate. You take in the color values of everything. Green isnt just green anymore. It’s a dark olive green thats blended all the way up with white highlights. You notice how even the prettiest most perfect ponytail isn’t perfect. It has wispy little flyaways that only make an appearance if you pay enough attention. Being an artist Is a privilege. It makes life more real. More special. More important. The ability to consume and reproduce art is an honor.