For years I didn’t know why I was creative.
Why I wanted to act, sing or dance. Why I wanted to put thoughts and emotions into something tangible. Why I struggled with my artist friends to give shape and form to make the unseen seen.
I just knew that I had to create.
Then I read this quote…
I create to bring life.
I create to season the bland, to give breath to the the lifeless, to instill hope in the hopeless.
To be moved and move.
To transfer breath, time and energy.
I create because when I don’t, there’s a hole. The gap-space-gully trips me up. It trips other people up when I don’t create.
When I don’t write—like I’m doing right now—the words search for their home.
The words hover, hoping for an artist to give them voice. Hoping for a writer to pen them. Hoping for a painter to paint them. Hoping for a singer to sing them. The words wander and haunt until there is nothing but angst in the air.
The angst of unrelinquished words. (Tweet this)
That’s why I write.
I may have nothing to say.
I may be uninteresting.
I may be needy or aloof or too much of this and not enough of that.
But my words find a home here.
My words rest here. My words love it here.
My words are safe. Safe here.
My words aren’t just for me.
That’s why you are reading this. Because I decided to share them.
That’s so very rewarding that something I wrote days, months or even years ago now lives on in your mind right now.
Legacy in words.
Legacy in paint.
Legacy in song.
All because an artist gave a home to his medium and decided to share.
Edgar Degas said that “art is not what you see, but what you make others see.” (Tweet this)
And that is one of the primary reasons why I’m alive.
Question: Why do you create?