Oct 9th, 2009 1:43:00am
Music. Something that has affected so many people in so many ways in so many places. I am listening to music as I type this, and as always I am struck with the impact it has had on my life. Music was there for me when I used to have no one else. It still is there for me. It describes my feelings better than I ever could. I have been moved by music- touched by it. And now? I cannot imagine life without it.
So what is it about this thing? This set of sounds, words, and beats, that gets to us all? Whether you love classical, country, rock, death metal or rap, there is no denying that at some point you have been through a moment where all you can say is, “Wow. I’ve felt this. I feel this. I’ve thought this and wondered about this.” Some people just listen to music for heck of it, others to appreciate the symphony of instruments working together in a way us humans never could, and others still for the way it relates to them. You may be one of the above, or all of them, but no matter which, your moment has happened or will happen.
Music has this way of not only affecting your ears, but your eyes with the images it provokes, your mind with the memories it may bring to surface, your body with the urge to get up and dance away your inhibitions, and your heart with the emotions sent coursing through it. How is a question I doubt I will ever be able to answer.
It is not unlike writing, don’t you think? Writing, too, has a way of getting through to a reader. Think of art. Paintings, sketches, and sculptures. How many times have you heard someone say that the Mona Lisa’s smile makes them achingly curious? Or that Evard Munch’s “The Scream” expresses to them a feeling of frustration, or sadness, or fear?
It isn’t just music. It is the power of creative art. No one may ever truly understand why it has such an effect on us, but does that matter? In a world where the tenacious ivy of logic and realism is creeping up and grabbing us by the ankles, we could all use a bit of artistic relief. Art. True art. Beauty that has been captured, yet remains free for us to gaze upon at our leisure. Emotions that have been expressed for you, when you can’t seem to get them out yourself. Words that have been spoken for you when you couldn’t find the right ones. Screams when you weren’t allowed to scream. Tears when you weren’t allowed to cry. Rage when you couldn’t let yourself lose your cool.
We are all around us. Doesn’t make sense? Read it again. Think about it. We are all around us, in our art. Our art contains us in them. We pour in a little bit of our souls, for the world to see without really seeing.
Those who create, do it to reveal a part they would normally keep hidden. Those who do not create observe the art of others. They find that part; relate to it. Then comes feeling of specialness. Feeling as if the artist has peered into your innermost core and made this for you. A quiet relief: I am not alone.
Perhaps this is the answer. We need to know we are not the only ones who think the way we do, who see things the way we do, who sense things the way we do.
You are not alone.
And the Arts.
The beautiful, beautiful creations of the truest part of ourselves.
They prove this.