What is the purpose of art? Is it for the sake of imitating life? The English Painters certainly seemed to think so. They tried to capture the beauty of the everyday world, and put it within the context of their paintings. That's why many of the world's best landscapes come from England. But I don't like landscape paintings though. I agree that they're beautiful. But they somehow seem to me, rather devoid of emotion and personality.
I suppose I have been drawing a lot lately. But I guess there are some things that can be expressed in drawings the way the cannot in a piece of writing. Perhaps writing is too descriptive. I find it extremely difficult to express my emotions in their entirety and yet, censor the explicitness of the narrative in a way which would nor reveal too much to my audience. Because writing (I believe) is meant to be read by someone. So perhaps I have not yet perfected the style of ambiguity in my written work. But not with drawing though. In drawing I can (attempt to) translate my thoughts and feelings into a piece of paper in their entirety. Through a series of symbolism, representation and presentation, I can give my emotions a physical body. And yet, at the same time I can hide parts of it from the world. I guess it gives me both the sense of exhibitionist pleasure - that I can so openly splay myself out for the world to see, and yet, the personal comfort of hiding parts of it as well.
But there's been a problem. I've been trying to draw something lately. One picture that will encapsulate the majesty and extent of my feelings. I've been trying to recreate the feeling of utter weightlessness and extreme presence. Of utter consequence and insignificance. Of beauty and escapism. I've been attempting to put into paper everything and anything that it means to feel the way I do right now. But try as I might, I can't. But perhaps that's the point. Perhaps there are some feelings that are just too big and surreal to place within a piece of paper. Perhaps there are some things that can only exist within 2 hearts. 2 you. 2 me.
But perhaps that is it. Because, really, how can you paint love?
