There’s a part of me that believes art to be a primordial aspect of the human condition. Art inspires, art is a way of achieving greatness, of building a better world. Art turns strangers into friends. Without art, without artists, we wouldn’t be ourselves anymore.
Because I feel that within the confines of any artistic form of expression, we allow ourselves to wear a mask. The artist hides behind words or paints or brushes. And he feels safe. He can be anyone he wants to be. His freedom is limitless. And he plays this bizarre game of hide and seek with the rest of the world, constantly changing the rules, until he decides – maybe on a mere subconscious level – to be himself, thinking that people will never find out.
“Art is never finished, only abandoned.” ― Leonardo da Vinci
Lately I’ve been considering the fact that I should/could edit all my previous releases. Lucky me, I’ve got plenty of other projects to keep me busy, so I can postpone this idea and overthink it until it becomes terrible.
But, if I were to read my books again, years after I last did that, I know that I’d feel compelled to change a lot of things. First of all, my style has changed quite a bit. And the way I understand fiction, the written word, the way said words form sentences. Or, better said, the way I prefer them to form sentences.
“Any man who keeps working is not a failure. He may not be a great writer, but if he applies the old-fashioned virtues of hard, constant labor, he’ll eventually make some kind of career for himself as writer.” —Ray Bradbury
The first story the Writer ever shared with fellow human beings was unanimously hated by said humans. One of them said, about the Writer, that he was either a retard or fourteen years old.
But he kept writing. One bad story after another. He kept reading, as if to accumulate all the words the Great Writers, the ones before him, had ever put down on paper. Continue reading “The Writer: Episode #7”→
Self-taught artist, Darren Crowley has this to say [from his saatchiart page]:
I am a full time professional artist obsessed with painting and I create art every day of my life. I paint in oils and acrylic on canvas and vintage book pages that have been glued together. The old discolored pages give a sense of history and intrigue. Many of them are from the 1800’s and still have writing, birthday messages, notes, best wishes etc from the original owners. The paintings begin with a base layer of vintage pages onto which the image will begin to emerge. More layers of paper or interesting symbols and fragments are added to give depth and changes in tone. I use acrylic paint, ink, airbrush and whatever I feel is necessary as the piece progresses. I work from my studio in Ireland but I travel a lot and paint everywhere I go. Landscapes, people, objects anything that catches my eye. It is my way of capturing a little of the energy. Dripping paint, fast brush strokes, splattered droplets combined with precise delicate brushwork to conjure the finished work. I hope you will enjoy the paintings as my journey continues. Painting since 2001 but I haven’t even started yet.
Writing a book can be a long and strenuous exercise in creativity, patience, and self-confidence. And even though all it takes is that you sit at your desk and bleed for a few hours every day, sometimes this advice proves to be as useful as a friend telling us that in order to overcome feeling nervous about someone we need to be ourselves.
I don’t want to tell you that all you’ve got to do is punch the damn keys. I want to show you that there is a better way to go about writing a book.
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was a French painter, printmaker, draughtsman, caricaturist, and illustrator whose immersion in the colourful and theatrical life of Paris in the late 19th century allowed him to produce a collection of enticing, elegant, and provocative images of the modern, sometimes decadent, affairs of those times.