I - An artist(?)

| I called myself an artist | 'definition' | Part 1

I keep thinking about this and I have to write it down (and share) somewhere now.

I genuinely believe - that an artist is an artist much before, (understandably identified as) during, and much after - all that she creates.

Art is in the heart. It's in the soul (if you call it that), I call it the core. It's in the core of a person. It's in the living and moving of a person. It's so beyond the output. It's in the heart (have to say it again) of an artist, it is in the way you look at the world or yourself or the people and even if it's not any of that, it's just everything about you, somehow. Anything that shows then, created and shared, is a privilege to view.

I feel like an artist probably thinks everyone and everything is art. And maybe that is the kind of person I call an artist.

And as self-validating, as it is, by this definition - oh, I am so an artist. And it's an honor. And it's life. And it's everything.

Just by the way. Everyone has an artist in them. Just a bit unacquainted, untouched, untapped, unnourished, unleashed, and a bit fearful. And justifiably so. It is my privilege to be able to dare to be myself. It is so fucking scary, man, but, god, is it fulfilling.

I cannot. Not be an artist. I want to understand that because a part of me always believes that. And it's difficult to remember that but I really want to. At this point, I want to stop talking because the first paragraph is what I want to share right now. So see you.

Part 2 You know it's quite fun actually. To live this way.

Everyone is beautiful, everyone is fascinating, and everyone is amusing. And you might not even want anyone or might love them so deeply, I don't know what you might do but you do it honestly or you try to.

Everything makes you feel deeply, everything hurts, everything scares, everything questions (you), everything generates curiosity, everything makes you want to run and stay and feel but no it's too scary to feel so we run again. Your memories of things feel different, touches are experienced differently, wait; actually to speak more accurately: everything might just be the same, the 'common', it could even be perceived similarly but is still somehow different, maybe in expression, maybe in depth, maybe in how aware you are of it, and how much you dare to be aware of it, how much you remember it and how you remember it.

I don't think I can pinpoint what it is; anddd yet I continue speaking (what you gonna do, it's my blog after all).

Sometimes it's in the words and words don't have to be complicated, they just have to exist, with as much honesty and transparency as you manage to share. But you want to make and you want to share. Why? Because it's fun and fulfilling.

That is probably pretty much it. It feels enough. And to share with a person or a group of people or everyone or no one at all and all that might change, everything feels different and enough. Maybe everything is based on how right it feels if it feels enough. And I guess art to an artist feels just right and just enough.

Life feels meaningless and some experiences feel meaningful. Things are not enough to live for, yet not enough to die because of. You recognise that and more. Then when you want to die, you don't because there it is to save your life - that stupid freaking art in some weird form that wants you to watch some and make some and just hang around for, and there is some meaning to a stupid life, and there is some feeling of love and you see beauty in something, and then everything.

This is obviously, just one way things go, for one or some people at some or more times. My way for now. If you don't understand what I just say, that's okay. Many gaps in the sentences, and a random turn toward the topic of killing yourself? I don't really care, man. I had to say what I had to say.

Part 3

I don't know what more to tell you. But you are always a piece of art. And you are such an artist I wish for you to fly so much, not always high, it can be scary (and let's be real?) but a lot and beautifully and if you don't like to fly you could swim. Or walk. Or sit and then move some.

Just. Be ok. And be happy as much as possible. And maybe dare? Maybe, dare to be yourself.

I truly believe you are beautiful.

I might not like or love you, but you're still obviously beautiful. Also, If it sounds contradictory to you, I'm cool with that, cause (honestly) it's all of it and all of it is true, I'm true to it and it's true to me.

So. Yeah. Gotta shush now. This third part is tired and mentally sleepy. I'm just one person. One kind of person (I repeat from Part 2's end). Do you get me? Yeah? No? I'm tired.

All this is bullshit. If you're still reading, go do your work.

Babulaibula, I'm a circle.