Why Art?
Why not art? You take out your camera, you see something that you don't ordinarily see, you take a photograph, you stay with the photograph until it can mean something, or it is forgotten. Same with writing honestly, scraps of pages, digital midnight notes app poems, the ruminations about life, a flirtation with suicide, why not art? People don't understand, you don't understand them. They don't have to understand your art. Why is it contingent on whether they understand it or not? Why are your actions still contingent on whether others can understand you or not? When you lie, they understand; when you try to speak your truth, they find you patronizing. So why care? It is indulgent, indulge yourself. You won't have anything to be sorry for, or you won't want to explain anything to anyone who doesn't want to listen, or doesn't want to understand. Why art? Why not art? Why not anything that you like to do? If you like it, others don't, and you stop making it because of them, whose loss is it? Nobody feels entirely understood. Remember that now. Not you, not her, not him.