I should be writing fiction right now, but instead I'd rather blog. It's much easier to write about myself than it is to project myself onto a character and then write from that voice. It's all so meta. Given my inextricable narcissism, you would think this would be an easy task for me. Alas, it's not: I'm horrifically self-conscious yet entirely self-involved. Epic levels or arrogance matched with self-deprecation. A leo lioness with a moon in Pisces, a little guppy fish with the heart of a shark.
This weekend I learned that I love art because of what it means to people, to movements, and to society as a forward-moving organism. The Van Gogh, Guaguin, Cezanne and Beyond exhibit was beautiful. It was intensely inspiring to be in a room with paintings that were life-changing for the artist, world-changing for art, and art-changing for society. To look at Van Gogh's broad and fierce brush strokes--the madness of pieces fitting together but with the seams showing, the manifestation of the hard and lonely life that is the choice to be an artist--is breathtaking.
Take the time to be yourselves, dear Readers. Listen to your heart and let it take you where it may. Make that difficult choice - you are the only one who can.
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