Art Saves

As a young boy in primary school about a decade or so ago, the class period I dreaded the most was probably Arts & Culture class, Literature came in a close second to that.  I remember telling a classmate of mine in Grade 2, "Literature is litter!"  All those years spent learning the language of music, which is the note, didn't resound all too well with me.  I only put in some effort to make sense of these other-worldly scribbles so that I may get my A.  Later on, we actually had to study a little bit of the history of art.  Ugh, I don't care about romanticism and impressionism, I just want to go outside and play some soccer!  Modern Art was obviously a target of much criticism and resentment.  I was all too relieved when the Arts and Culture curriculum ended in Grade 9 and I could choose different subjects to study for the rest of high school.  I didn't get the jest of Classical music at that time.  It seemed like squeaky music that pretentious, snobbish bastards would listen to.  As you could, see art in its purest forms was revolting to me.

 

Things changed in college when I had to take a music appreciation class in my first semester as a freshman.  Now I had to pretend to appreciate and care for this hunk of junk (as it was mostly Classical music) for a whole semester, as my commitment to get an A was still there.  We were required to listen to some symphonies from back in the day and attend at least 4 classical music concerts.  On cold January nights I would unwillingly pedal my bike along to the other side of campus over hill and through dales to slowly rack up my tally of concerts.  The blaring sound of the trumpet gradually evolved from an obnoxious blast to a soothing melody. The strings of the violin morphed from squeaky shrills to flowing honeydroplets that would feed the hunger pangs of the oppressed artist that abode in my being.  The former discomfort now moved me.  It shattered the chains that fettered my inner, starved romantic.  The joy of the symphony enveloped me in its gracious overtures.  A new world dawned upon me, previously darkened by narrow-mindedness and hate.

 

The powe of music spilled over to other areas of my life.  I realised that I was engaging in artistry all along.  I found out that I was not the entirely left brain person I thought I was.  My right brain had been driving me all along, it just liked taking the back seat and seeing the right brain have its moment in the sun.  By unlocking my inner artist, I also released the demons that lived inside of me.  I realised that I was lonely (hence The Lonelyman Diaries), I had few friends, I lived a one track life and that I was a very moral person, but with absolutely no grey areas.  In other words, I had no room for grace and mercy.  In the this great explosion I also truly came to terms with my muse - writing.  Through writing I have given the demons within me a place to run to.  Maybe even a place to escape from.

 

Every person in this life has an outlet or something or somewhere where they can express their innermost fears, hopes, desires and dreams.  Some find their solace in gazing at a starry night, some find serenity in worship of the Lord, others experience nirvana through the heartbeat of the universe - music.  My hope for this world is that all would discover their outlet, their joy, their passion.  I pray that we may get to spend as much time as possible within or "zones".  Even more so, I hope that each and every one of us would find a special someone (or two or three) to share in our muses.

For life was not made to lived alone, but to have koinonia with all people. 

 

Art saves, as it has saved me.

 

There lies happiness

TheLonelyman