“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”
Bear with me here, folks. I want you all to do something, for yourselves. Put everyone to bed, find a decent pair of headphones, get to a dark and comfortable corner and listen to this. (The quality could be better of course.) If you have an iota of a muscial ear or even a flyspeck of an appreciation of the arts; you will feel it. The passion, the fervidness of years of toil, the infinitely knotty art of being present in the moment; the general awesomeness of it all.
A simply written but profoundly affecting sentence in a book. A physical feat achieved not only because of inherent talent, but by unfathomable hard- work. A master playing his beloved instrument or a dancer in her bubble where only she and her movement exist. A movie, where I lose sense of time and place, where the actors can only be who they play, where the picture is so magical that even real life cannot compare, emotions relayed by people who aren’t really feeling it. I am the sort to get goosebumps while I witness these. I am often inspired, belittled and humbled by artistic feats. I respect the discipline, commend the single- mindedness and envy the talent. There is something about doing a thing over and over and over and over again, only to do it perfectly that once.
I was raised in a middle- class home, where not much emphasis was placed on artistic or alternative pursuits. I was expected to get good marks at school and be docile and obedient at home. My one regret in life thus far, is not mastering an instrument. As a child, I scrimped and saved money to buy non- school books. I wished to learn dance professionally. I loved watching my artistically- blessed friend painting her Sundays away.
Maybe that is the reason why I have become a hoarder and ravenous devourer of books. I watch people play different instruments on YouTube, mesmerised. Send my daugther to art- class, wish she would pick up learning the piano or violin, cello, harp, flute; anything! Then I have to check myself. My unfulfilled dreams are my burden to bear, not my daughter’s cross.
I wish upon my children the pain and elation of creation. But art is never enforced, it a child of rigour and talent. Passion and discipline. Love and hardyness.
Therefore, all I can do is expose them. Give them chances I never had, Hope to instill the love for all things wonderful. Wish to make them multifarious. Appreciate all the wonder and beauty that humanity has to offer.
Z, Boss Boy and I are dancing to Hans Zimmer and 2Cellos as I type.
Till next time,