“Some people are artists. Some, themselves, are art.”
This statement has had me lost for the last few days. I follow a page on FB called Word Porn, which often posts quotes and thought provoking statements. This quote was posted a couple days, and it’s twisted my mind into knots as of late.
I dream of being an artist. Of making a life out of just creating things that people can look at and engage with emotion. Be it theater, writing, or art pieces, it is my general goal to be an artist of some form (I can get super in-depth about everything being a form of art but I’m too lazy to do so).
With with my love and passion of make up, I feel confident in that I can turn myself into art. I blend a large variety of colored powders on my eyelids and paint bold shades on my lips to turn my appearance into something completely different. It makes me feel bold and eccentric, two things I feel no one should ever be afraid of displaying in abundance.
But then there are my dark periods, in which I find myself huddled in a ball in bed, immobile and deflated. In those moments I feel I am neither art nor artist. Rather than look into the darker meanings of that, I’m choosing to look at those periods as myself preparing to make the next great masterpiece. Whether I make the art or become it myself is always a toss-up, but something beautiful always seems to bloom big and loud.