I have a few questions I’d like to explore in this one. I’m not sure what I’ll call this post. It may reveal itself.
These questions, in no particular order, although some order may be necessary to analyze them properly.
1. What is art?
2. Is writing art?
3. Why do people write?
4. Why do I write?
5. What’s the point of writing?
Perhaps there are more, but I will start with these for now.
What is art?
Luckily, I’ve broken this one down before, so hopefully this makes sense (I often worry about spewing, instead of speaking.) I believe art has to communicate something. An idea, a story, a thought, a feeling. Art needs to have something that it’s saying. You can have a photograph that is not art. You can have a painting that is not art. You can have a story, perhaps, that is not art.
Or can you? Now we get into “I haven’t thought this through” territory, so bear with me during the turbulence.
Well, just by my previously established definition… No? You cannot have a story that is not art, because words themselves communicate something. But not all words are art. So something is wrong there. Perhaps I need to update the definition to “Art has to say something meaningful.” But what is meaning? Feeling? I’m not sure I’m qualified to dictate what meaning, means.
Maybe that part is up to the author. The writer. Painter, poet. Their art has to mean something to themselves. Although, does it become art-- when it means something to someone else? Perhaps art is more about the eye of the beholder. So can something be art to someone and not to someone else? Does this invalidate it from being art? or is everything art, as it could possibly, at some point, be considered meaningful by someone?
I think we’re reading a bit too far in, now. I think the essence is that art conveys meaning. Carries it. So, yes, writing can be art (I’m not sure, now, why I made this it’s own question.) And I’m sure, to everyone (the beholder) there exists writing that is not art. Can I think of any off the top of my head? Yes.
Actually no. I cannot. But I have a twisted way of extrapolating meaning out of everything. The point, the point. But I believe you understand what I’m saying, I hope. If not, I apologize, but it’s time to move forward.
Edit: I’m stupid. I believe an instructional pamphlet is writing but not art. Although this isn’t quite as deep as I intended, seeing as an instructional pamphlet is not attempted art, it begins to convey the point. That words themselves are not art just because they convey a thought.
Moving on.
Why do people write?
A friend of mine, Mercurial, wrote a post called “Why You Write.” Generally, his writing is much funnier than mine, surely. And, well, it’s technically a series of posts. The first is my favorite, but I urge you to click around his page if you find it interesting. And although it’s from the perspective of a character, I think it’s a good place to start.
I love to watch words dance. It’s one of my weaknesses, I think. This is definitely not why I write, but I admire people that can write like this. Do I believe this is good enough on its own to stand as art? I’m not sure. Is Thomas Kinkade art? What about John Singer Sargent? Paintings that use craft to convey the literal. Perhaps these are bad examples and you find meaning in them. But does the literal still have meaning? Is there inherent meaning in beauty? (Perhaps, if it makes you feel something.) Does the meaning need to be significant to be considered as such? I digress. People do, clearly, write to watch words dance.
You like writing stories. In Mercurial’s original piece, the narrator says something a bit different, but I suppose this is close enough. And perhaps I believe it to be more accurate.
You just have an idea and you want to see it come to life. These works are often planned, more methodically. They have a purpose. And that purpose is a story, itself. Although it could be- and should be- said that you can write like this without planning methodically (I believe, now as I’m writing this, that I may be conflating two ideas.)
Regardless. The meaning is self-contained. You write these characters and they live in their world and their world means something to them. I would consider that art, maybe. Or maybe it’s similar to what I said before. At this point, is it just beauty? but instead of shimmering, they paint themselves? Full pictures. Place strict meaning into your mind. Or maybe I only consider words meaningful when they transcend the page. I’m not sure. I will think more about this. (I need to figure out, I believe, what is meaning. Maybe I should add this to the list.)
Perhaps you also write because you want to mimic. You like reading and you want to do that. Create that. That piece, that feeling.
Imitation is flattery. Flattery is feeling. Feeling is meaning. Is that art?
You write because you feel that you have something important to say.
Yeah.
I think I do.
Which is hard, for me, because I don’t know that I do.
Before very recently, I hadn’t shared much of my writing. I had little interest. Then why write?
I suppose it was an outlet. I feel very deeply, often. Sometimes not.
But when I do, I feel and I feel and they bottle and bottle until I feel my soul spilling out of my pores, pouring through my fingertips. Maybe that’s why, to this point, most of the works I’ve written have been so emotionally charged. I wonder if that’s a bad thing? I’m not sure.
Regardless, at that point, I wrote because I believed it was meaningful. That it was something important to say. Although not necessarily to someone else.
There’s a level of imitation too, surely. I read my mom’s old posts and it makes me cry. Hot tears streaming down my face. No hics or sniffles. Just tears.
How powerful.
I wish I could do that.
Or the beginning of Mercurial’s Spacelight. I spoke to him about this. He said that it felt shallow. I disagreed. The words danced off the page and I felt something. They transcended his meaning and created a new one, for me.
How powerful.
I wish I could do that, too.
I believe, thus far, I have wielded my words well. Well enough at least. Letters that brought someone to tears. Several. A message that meant something. “This will always be stuck with me.”
How kind.
I’m starting to get it now.
So why, concisely, do I write?
I find value in words. I think we are lucky to be alive and to have minds that can conduct symphonies with thoughts and technology so readily available to disperse and preserve. I think it to be a waste to not utilize what little talent I do have, just for the sake of art being art.
I think what I create is art. I believe it to be meaningful, and very much so. To me, it is unmistakably art. I am very proud of that.
I want to make an impact, I guess. It doesn’t have to be widespread. The way that others have impacted me. I feel, and I do so very deeply. I’ve been through so much pain and art curbs and conveys and makes you feel less alone. Sometimes it distracts, sometimes the antithesis. I’ve already begun to sing for those around me. For those with the ears to listen. They seem to like how it sounds. I hope that I can leave a word, or two, with them for as long as they feel to remember it.
And what is the point of writing?
I have my own points.
I understand that they do not translate across the board.
I believe
Hm--
The point of writing is up to you.
Although, I must say.
I cannot guarantee that you will create art.