Art is scary
Art is beautiful.
But it’s also quite scary.
I’ve often witnessed the most bedazzling creations come to life – ones that deeply touch anyone who gets to watch them even from a distance, while their behind-the-scenes are so full of heartbreak and misery. And it scares me.
It scares me every time I come across an incredible piece of art that I cannot fully comprehend.
I cannot help but wonder how many tears must have been shed for it to eventually come out. How loud the voices inside had to get before the creator couldn’t survive being the only one who hears them. How deep the grief was stored in the body and how suffocating it must have felt to be part of a process no one could’ve explained beforehand.
That they just had to bring it all out through some form of expression.
And I wonder, do artists consciously choose to make their art, or do their creative powers flow unexpectedly as the intensity builds up?
Is art relatable because the pain feels familiar, or are the thunderous echoes of the human experience capable of connecting the audience despite the differences?
Would the simple act of creating help release the heavy weight of existence, or does the energy merely get transferred to some other part of the universe once the outcome’s shared?
Is art really meant to be beautiful, or is it meant to scare whomever it touches?
