If You Thought Making Art Is Going To Be Easy, It’s Not
Our lives are struggles, to bear witness, to speak out, to stand for something which we believe is worth standing for.
If you thought it was going to be easy, it’s not. It never was.
When musicians are complimented on their compositions, it’s not his talent alone you’re applauding. You’re cheering for his story, you’re cheering for all those moments he split his hand open on the strings of his instrument, bathed its wooden body in his blood. This ritual is what makes up his music.
How a pint of blood loses life, turns into a mess which must be doused in industrial solvent to be removed, becomes a stain which looks like spilling wine on ebony, while the instrument slowly takes a life of its own, screeches and screams and tugs at our hearts like a newborn come into this watching world, that’s how music is born.
Art always had its story. Every photograph, polaroid or digital, plastic or gigabytes of memories and moments, it all came from a story. The story of a woman standing in front of a bulldozing crowd, with beating heart that trembles but never runs.
The belief that what she stands for is worth standing for, even in the face of a stampede or reckless bullets striving to find target. The story of a toddler smiling, eyes wide, cheeks wrinkled, the first moment one realises our bodies aren’t bodies but a circus of human emotions, that they can flex their muscles and make someone laugh along, stretch their throat into producing cries which brings people running to attend to their needs.
Years later when the toddler would grow up, they’ll learn how easy it had been all along to stand on trembling legs in front of a lover walking through the ruins of their spirit, how it feels to become a roaming tongue stroking sparks into fire.
Every poem tells a story.
Every brush stroke on naked canvas talks to you. You’ve only got to listen.
If you thought it was going to be easy, it wasn’t.
Nothing is.
Our love is an apartment on fire and we run around in circles trying to find an exit hatch, or a room in the basement where we’ll be safe when the flames run out. Our lives are struggles, to bear witness, to speak out, to stand for something which we believe is worth standing for. If you thought it is easy, it isn’t. But easy, isn’t always beautiful.
The artists will tell you that. 
