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Nicht weinen Chérie, das gute Make-Up. |
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| Liebe ist Frankreich und Paris das bist du. |
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august '07
Dear Mr. Schilling,
For a bit of time, I've been debating how I feel about art. I wonder what exactly defines art, which shapes what we are told, is 'good' and who decides what is 'bad'. I often wonder if Picasso was actually a "good" artist; does abstract shapes molded to resemble a picture count as good art? Could a five year do something of similar quality? Was he a good artist or perhaps he was a scientist? Perhaps he devoted his life to "art", making it his science, and improving the formula. I don't know; I am not experienced enough to say, but I can say he made art, and regardless of what critic examines this, he is fantastic.
So, here I am, in an normaly class, full of individuals who mean nothing to me. The entirety of the class are blank faces, their actions mean nothing to me, nor do I associate them with any particular group of people. In my eyes, they are simply my peers; this group of people who hold no weight in my heart. I've met entirely too many people like them, and they are easily replaces. Bochum is not a place that gives birth to individuals, which is fine, not everyone is destined to be miraculous, or else those that are similar to Jesus Christ or Picasso would not be Jesus Christ or Picasso, but instead be another faceless person. Quite the paradox, correct?
I question myself once again, do I enjoy art? Do I like it, what is my opinion of this broad subject? Art terrifies me. I love it. I hate it. It moves me, and surrounds me everywhere. This is where I falter. Art, regardless of my admiration for it, is a road block. The connotation of art has turned into a deep hatred; it replaces all the feelings I have of love for it.
Art is different. Art terrifies me. I am not terrified because of the assignments, or colors, or the mediums; no, I am terrified of art because of how it makes me feel, what is brought forth.
I believe that one can tell an enormous amount of information by someone's art work. Art work, in my opinion, is a portrayal of the feelings you feel one moment. The white hot seething anger, or the crashing waves of sadness, or the numb sinking feeling. There are times that I mix colors; things that would never go together and I explore the insides of myself. Art is a mystery revealer; you never know what it will show you about yourself.
Art causes me to hate myself. Day after day I have no control over anything; my art work comes out in scrawls and messy blotches, and scattered sketches because I am shaking and frightened.
I hate Art. I hate the mirror effect. That shows my emotions, and allows you. To think I'm negative. Or angry at Art, but it's not art, and yet it is.
Do I care about anything?
I care about Art. I'm terrible at it.
It calms me down. All the tests, the comments, the scared moments,
they play through my head during Art.
Art really is my friend.
Music is my friend as well. If you allow the notes to overshadow you, and lose yourself in them, you will find happiness. The beauty, the mixtures of warm contrasting cool, allows me to feel slightly better.
But, I also love Art.
I'm sure you often wonder why I'm strange, and why I smile sometimes, and pretend to be happy, because if you did or if you didn't, I wouldn't mind.
Art is everything to me, and when I go to college and study Political Science and english,and minor in physiology, art will be engrained in me.
Maybe you will always be Mr. Schilling, with your loafers and snazzy tie, and happy smile, and blending of colors, that shows maybe how you felt.
And Maybe I will always hate Art, and want to be Art, and feel Art, but not drawing
and painting or even sculpting, but abstract as Picasso.
Maybe the secrets of his Art haven't been discovered, and maybe my secrets will never be a stain. The kind that's on your favorite shirt, and won't come out, not even with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.
Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, with your loafers and snazzy tie, and love of drawing and the picture of your grandfather above the blinded windows, and your music singing about quiet things, or morning feelings.
Mr. Clean Magic Eraser
Is a nice person?
Who helps me erase certain things?
But simply allowing me to draw what I want and feel a little bit better.
I'm sure you wonder why I am telling you this.
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