| Why is it taboo to ask an artist to explain a piece he has already completed? Could it be that words cannot do justice to a tangible which an individual has allowed so much of themselves to become part of the piece? Or is it that the inspiration that allowed for the vision to be created has drifted on, never to be captured and understood but only to be expressed?
Inspiration is a funny thing. It usually comes to me in a fleeting moment, but an instant later, it leaves me in a lackluster slip out the door left only on the "tip of my tongue". Even if it comes to me again, it just isn't the same. I know the essence will never return. The idea of trying to conjure up that same inspirational thought in a comprehensible way is even more far fetched than the idea of not allowing inspiration to cross your conscious tomorrow. It seems that when you try to force inspiration, you're allowing the chance of really looking outside of the self. Connections seem to fall together in your mind and these understandings fight through all of society's norms, sanctions, and bullshit to realize an untapped resource. A breakthrough nonetheless! Inspiration breaks beyond your status, your poverty, your parents, your time, your self-conscious, your self-restraints. Inspiration cannot be captured by a thousand words because as quickly it arises, it flees never to be captured by one but to be shared by many. | comments: Leave a comment   |
| | When I write on a laptop keyboard my mind seems to stay within a reasonable framework. My everyday thought processes, though, seem to always roam from subject to subject unconsciously. This mind wandering is evident in my class notes. Intricate, detailed doodles consume my notebooks leaving very little room for information. So, I knew would be interesting to sit down with a notebook without a prof rambling in front me and write. Doodles and drawings still flowed pretty naturally onto the paper... but I also started to write down and ask myself questions. The answers came from many different directions and all of them were only logical in a very round-n-about way. I also wrote down things I think are important to who I am. Looking back, the page seems littered with doodles, quotes, and comments. Though, under close observation, I see they all are linked back to a question. The whole page, even the little ignorant doodles linked backed to one question at the top of the paper... Why? I couldn't make myself write down "What I did today" in the journal. Paper did seem to give me a clearer conscious to memories. I ended up writing down a couple of funny stories that I had never put on paper before. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| I'm a 19 yr old young man that loves music. Riding in the car is a time for real soul searching. I sit silently and concentrate on the road....
of course i have those "unlikely" times where I throw on my aviators and jam out like a man possessed to some Marley or the Dead.
Yet my mood sometimes changes... this is when I throw my stunna' shades on and crank up my two 12" as they blare the hardcore rap. Yeah i'm that head turner that vibrates your car. That's right my bass will bump you clear off the road. Don't hate.
BTW. I dance in my car... often. Reeaaalll cool right? | | comments: Leave a comment |
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nmcclosk's journal