I Know The Meaning Of Life!

Actually just mine, it's art. the meaning to your life might have nothing at all to do with art.

in "my reasons" i had promised to elaborate on my love for art. but something i read a couple of weeks ago changed that. i came up with a line earlier this year that went, "art doesn't have to be true to be honest." but after reading what might be the most beautiful and profound piece ever, i changed it to "art doesn't have to be true but it has to be honest." i've read it about 5 times since. of course it has to do with art. it's moving, it's amazing, it's glorious, it's inspiring, it's enlightening, it's a million other such adjectives and it's the preface to my current buddy, "the nigger of the narcissus" by joseph conrad. it was written in 1897 so as you can imagine the word that you're surely thinking of right now was probably common place back then. and he only mentions that word in quotes otherwise he is usually called by his name in the narrative. anyway that's neither here nor there but i figured it might need some clarification. also no racist could write something so divine as you will soon find out.

the more i'm exposed to art the more i love and understand it. i can now find artfulness that i hadn't necessarily before in movies i had seen years ago or songs from my high school days. my senses have become more artful so my tastes have changed. even in observing women, my new artful eye can spot beauties my old eyes would've been blind to. and yes, observing women is an art form. (and don't worry i understand the fine line between observing and stalking :) ) i think that might become obvious looking through any art gallery around the world. obviously writing is the art form that chose me. i say it chose me because i personally would've chose to be a musician. that's the funny thing about art, it chooses you. something i might be drawn to might not say anything to you and vice versa. i always knew that i wanted art to have a strong presence in my life, just didn't know in what form. i neglected writing for many years because i loved music so much. unfortunately rhythm was never my strong suit.

before i keep going on and on i'll just get to the piece i was talking about. i'll be leaving the 2 introductory paragraphs and the concluding one. the first paragraph is about the work of art and the second of the artist and the last of the reward. if you want to read the entire thing you are more than welcome to e-mail me at bit.2@hotmail.com or message me on facebook and i will gladly send it to you. please read carefully, it might seem to be a difficult read at first but it really isn't. without further ado, the preface to "the nigger of the narcissus" by joseph conrad

A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line. and art itself may be defined as a single minded attempt to render the highest kind of justice to the visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one, underlying its every aspect. it is an attempt to find in its forms, in its colours, in its light, in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and in the facts of life, what of each is fundamental, what is enduring and essential - their one illuminating and convincing quality - the very truth of their existence. the artist, then like the thinker or the scientist, seeks the truth and makes his appeal. impressed by the aspect of the world the thinker plunges into ideas, the scientist into facts - whence, presently, emerging they make their appeal to those qualities of our being that fit us best for the hazardous enterprise of living. they speak authoritatively to our common sense, to our intelligence, to our desire of peace or to our desire of unrest; not seldom to our prejudices, sometimes to our fears, often to our egoism - but always to our credulity. and their words are heard with reverence, for their concern is with weighty matters: with the cultivation of our minds and the proper care of our bodies; with the attainment of our ambitions; with the perfection of the means and the glorification of our precious aims.
it is otherwise with the artist
confronted by the same enigmatic spectacle the artist descends within himself, and in that lonely region of stress and strife, if he be deserving and fortunate, he finds the terms of his appeal. his appeal is made to our less obvious capacities; to the part of our nature which, because of the warlike conditions of existence, is necessarily kept out of sight within the more resisting and hard qualities - like the vulnerable body within the steel armour. his appeal is less loud, more profound, less distinct, more stirring - and sooner forgotten. yet its effect endures for ever. the changing wisdom of successive generations discards ideas, questions facts, demolishes theories. but the artist appeals to the part of our being which is not dependent on wisdom; to that in us which is a gift and not an acquisition - and, therefore, more permanently enduring. he speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives; to our sense of pity, and beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling of fellowship with all creation - and to the subtle but invincible, conviction of solidarity that knits together the loneliness of innumerable hearts; to the the solidarity in dreams, in joy, in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, in fear, which binds men to each other, which binds together all humanity - the dead to the living and the living to the unborn. ...

... to arrest, for the space of a breath, the hands busy about the work of the earth, and compel men entranced by the sight of distant goals to glance for a moment at the surrounding vision of form and colour, of sunshine and shadows; to make them pause for a look, for a sigh, for a smile - such is the aim. difficult and evanescent and reserved only for a very few to achieve. but sometimes, by the deserving and the fortunate, even that task is accomplished. and when it is accomplished - behold! - all the truth of life is there; a moment of vision, a sigh, a smile - and the return to an eternal rest.

(it's like he read my mind)

i can't think of a better post to end off the year 2009 with. i thank you all that have been reading, from the bottom of my heart, for taking part in my art. i wish you all an artful 2010!