Van Gogh says there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. And I realize that my following thoughts and feelings about art came through while I was overcome by a contemplation of the overwhelming love I feel, for all that has crossed me, all that I have once held in my heart, no matter how long, no matter how fleeting, all that I still hold in my heart, and will hold. There is so much pain, darkness and distorted perceptions of separation in the world, that no matter how far we may fall, we still sometimes fail to see the symmetry and the identical heartbeats we all carry. But when you notice the tragedy of existence, you can see, not only into the darkest abyss, but also into the light of the highest heavens (as the German idealist would say). And this will always stay with me, this sort of perception. This position of standing on the contrast, the in-between, of light and dark, which is what gives birth to the artist, or the individual who is awakened to the insignificant significance of their existence in correlation with the wholeness of existence.
I think someone turns to art when they are left with no other choice but to turn their insides out, when there is nothing left to do but to let their feelings completely embody them, when there is nothing left to do but turn their overwhelming feeling into something that they can see with their own eyes. No matter what it is, no matter what it turns out to be, no matter how it is received. They turn their intangible into something tangible. Their insides become a part of their physical reality, something that they can visibly see that was once only an overwhelming invisible entity spinning around in their own invisibility. And even if the heaviness cannot subside, it becomes more bearable, even if only a little bit, even if only for a moment. And maybe that feeling, the feeling that embodies you and leaves you with no choice but to express it, in its truest form, is love. And this is why I believe that the artist, the true artist, is one who cannot be defined by how perfectly she strings words together, or how clearly she paints a picture, or how harmonious she is with a symphony. The true artist is not defined by any standard, or anything that creates any form of separation. She is a walker between worlds. She is a wanderer. She is homeless, and is therefore at home everywhere. She breaks through illusion. If the artist is to be defined by one thing, I believe that thing would be Love.
