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Life is art. Art is life. Everything has the ephemeral beauty of an eddy in the mist folding in on itself – nothing does. Art is interpretation; life is interpretation; we are who we make ourselves out to be. We make art out to be both beautiful and ugly and everything in between, but its innumerable nature itself is beautiful. Or repulsive. Everything humanity judges, everything humanity gives meaning to, everything humanity is, is art. But every piece of art we pass through softly with numb fingers touches us as well, and the observed changes the observer in the act as much as it is changed.
Music is the backbone of my life. It shapes my memories, my mood, and my perceptions. The hushed overtones of mourning at the last dance, the rawness of strings on fingers and bite of bow in hand, the daily pulses of bass washing over and wiping away stress – these are my memories. Each memory recalls to life a particular melody or strain from that time and, for a brief time, the emotions. Music molds not only the perceptions of the past, but also the present, for a Bruch concerto has the power to temper a mood just as ska can uplift my spirits. As much as I create music through violin, it creates a part of my consciousness that will likely never disappear.
Writing, too, changes self. Writing is an outlet, a pathway for the disorganized currents of the mind to come through in art. Writing is true creation. Through it I can induce something to blossom entirely out of myself, the only restraint being myself. I can distill myself, my thoughts, and my feelings into words. Writing is an open doorway to the mind, or a way to think aloud to the world. With it comes the power to persuade and compel, to reveal and show, to simply talk. Good communication is difficult in this world, for we humans are shallow beasts and self-awareness reaches very little of our being. The difficulty of writing, of putting myself on paper, reveals just how much I know of myself. Beyond my own writing, that of others has tremendous power to influence me. Dawkins and Dennett magnified the importance of rational thought; Paine had his common sense. The simple existence of a physical, tangible medium for abstract thought and communication is a wonder in and of itself.
Doubtless there are other mediums of art, other forms of human thought and interpretation. Writing and music are but the two forms that consciously influence me on a daily basis. But as a race, humanity and its culture are shaped by far more than just these two. Even considering all media of human expression, they're not all there is. Art is greater than the sum of its parts, greater than what we think it is. It's not simply a human creation but something that shapes humanity in return, holds a candle and a mirror to its face. And this meme is greater than that as well. Art is more.
