Fine Arts In All Its Forms

I never considered myself to be much of an artist. As in, “a person who creates art: a person who is skilled at drawing, painting, etc.” Thank you Mr. Webster for that precise definition. I held a keen interest for the “fine arts” but believed that my avenue led to music. For years I studied it religiously, learning all I could about the fundamentals, the theory, the composers, the instruments. I was fascinated with it. Like a mathematician completing a longer-than-necessary problem, I believed my true niche was found in music.

Well, things change. Do they not? People grow, people experiment, and people learn that their interests either expand further in the direction they were heading, or they (people) take the nearest exit and transfer to a new highway.

At first, when the Cloud of Uncertainty gave way and the Rain of Doubt poured down on me, I took the first exit and high-tailed it off that interstate. But then I got into a horrible car wreck in terms of emotions. And I did not drive on any avenue, dirt road, or highway for quite some time.

But then my body healed from the “brutal accident." And my car was "repaired" and begging me to take a ride.  

So I did.

And in this ride that I’ve been on since my “car accident”, I have discovered so much about myself. And I’m exploring my previous interests and discovering that they are, in fact, expanding further in the direction they were heading.  

I like art. In all its forms. Music. Theatre. Dance. Art. Photography. Poetry. Prose. (Does blogging count? Kidding.)

It turns out that music is not the only road I have to travel on. I’m allowed to explore the whole neighborhood.

My favorite part about this “fine arts neighborhood” I’m currently residing in, is the freedom I have to create whatever my heart wants to create. I’m in charge here. There are no rules. If you don’t want to capitalize or use correct punctuation in your poem (e.e. cummings) then go for it. If you want to compose a completely bombastic, cutting-edge piece of music (Hector Berlioz) then be my guest.

Art is expression. Art is a mere whisper of the heart screaming at the top of its lungs.

 Listen. Feel. Observe. Reflect. Express. Create.