You never fully understand the feeling of a moment until you live it. This is especially so for moments where a dream you conjured up a long time ago, one you’ve stashed away in the recesses of your head because you never expected it to ever become reality, comes true. You now actually get to live through those moments you only ever dreamed of, and can’t help but wonder if this is just another daydream.
For the amount of value words carry, some human feelings and emotions still cannot be fully expressed using words. And this holds true for all other art forms as well. After all, they ARE materialistic, and they ARE created by humans, who again, find it hard to completely express themselves. How could they ever carry the meaning of a feeling in all its entirety?
Of what value, then, are these art forms?
[Before I start getting bashed, please know that I too admire and appreciate these art forms (not so much for drawing/painting, though) as much as any of you. Heck, I envy their beauty and try to emulate them in my work all the time. But this just had me wondering.]
(I’m talking specifically about writing here) – Yes, I believe words are powerful and are capable of affecting one even more than a literal stab in the back would. But it’s never easy – for any writer, no matter if at beginner or professional level – to get the perfect combination of words to come even remotely close to putting a feeling in words. This kind of thinking works well in discouraging one from writing, dismissing it as a futile exercise.
The problem with art and its different forms is that they do not get appreciated enough, and are sometimes criticised. This happens because everyone has their own idea of what art should be and that’s okay. But what needs to be understood is that it isn’t an easy task, using art or words or any other concrete form to give meaning to an abstract feeling. As much as I love words and writing, I’ve learnt that even these fall short sometimes; like when you live in a moment filled with constant bursts of inexplicable joy and contentment and it feels like you’ve never been happier in your life as you are in that moment, or when you feel so low and depressed and just want to give up because it feels like you’re dying on the inside so you might as well just die on the outside, or any other feeling between these two extremes, which can never be justly put into words. The infinite happiness/sadness you feel at a given moment is difficult to explain, to be given meaning.
Words are the most beautiful, yet also the most complicated thing I’ve ever come across, and it never fails to fascinate me how different combinations of the same 26 letters (talking only about the English language here, obviously) can create countless words with infinite meanings and invent and broaden so many horizons.
However, like I said, my words don’t contain everything I’m actually feeling in a given moment. And it bothers me that no matter how well I think I’ve written something, I can’t seem to make much of an impact with it. I try to deal with this by thinking less of the impact my words could have and focus more on adding meaning to my words. For, at the end of the day, what matters is that I’ve put together the words in a way I thought apt and I’m satisfied with it. I think I speak for all writers and artists when I say that art is an escape or a form of expression. And so it doesn’t really matter whether or not people appreciate it or if my writing even bears the meaning I intend it to, so long as it was exactly what I wanted and was satisfied with at the time it was being created.