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Art is my explanation for life within the mystery. We are emerging fiction. The artist? An order of being beyond sense, measure, and description. There is a melody to it all, a song behind motion; a nonphysical connection between all moving bodies. The music of heavens animating the artist; animating all works of art. Art to make sense of the mystery; energy to know its presence. What other way to conceive of the world when the world and every other symbol has faded in the eternal emptiness? Existence is an illusion but not a lie; an illusion permits a plurality of perspectives while a lie negates all others in favor of one. There is no present and lasting form. I am in awe of what I have seen, I see parts of the canvas that have yet to be filled, and I feel the stroke of the brush moving in that direction. No final answers, no lasting choices. I ask for nothing more; I desire it all. What separated the stories of the pen and brush from the story of our lives was that “we” “are” “here” and the events experienced in this world are substantive. No one is here or there nor is this world the only one. Our lives are indistinguishable from the ink being spread on the canvas and the words spilling from the pen. Take heed, if the pen and brush are to move in every direction, there will be books that call for the burning of books, paintings that torture the artist; poems that kill the writer.
Without every single part in every possible arrangement, artistic integrity is impossible. There is no censure, limit, or standard above what wishes to be seen. Do not reject what is inside you for fear of transgressing against something beyond it because all is in motion transgressing against the other. All share some measure of their enemy. All sustain a kingdom beyond the war. Our destruction in the fire is not an evil just as the destruction of our cells is not a wrong. The essence of every impacted and scorched body lives on. Their properties change but their nature is the same. Fire cannot burn or extinguish fire. Only through burning can it entertain but never sustain the concept of suffering. The suffering arrives then burns away; the memory is born but that too catches on fire. The ash returns to the flames and the elements wish to burn once. There are no lasting subjects, no law to condemn their passing; no pain that can persist as an evil. Only the beauty of the flames, of what wishes to burn, to be engulfed remains and possesses lasting relevance. The sword spills blood equally. The pain of a shattered dream is equal to the joy a dream materializing but the pain passes away and the joy remains, both in what resists annihilation and what wishes to come together again. We are the most ontologically basic; the final principle needed to live forever in the dream. The dream where we are puppets dangled on strings, oh such beautiful strings! I wish to dance and dance and then dance some more! I love my fate. I say yes. The cycle of life places some souls into an inexorable meeting and eventual union with beauty. Some wish to escape the game/the dream/the mind and I fully understand but I am not choosing your illusion over the one I have come to love. Human beings, what a tortured species, they invent noise so they may forget the unbearable silence of their minds and then proceed to mute the deafening screams of their dreams which disguise themselves as instincts with some oddity they call truth! As for me, the rhythm of my tears as they flow through sadness and joy, that is all I need. Beauty is a successful theodicy. It is greater epistemologically. It is a pre-rational mode of being, justifying all experiences and validating all concepts. When we come to know ourselves, we will know nothing more important than beauty. We are the theodicy.
“Thus the man who is responsive to artistic stimuli reacts to the reality of dreams as does the philosopher to the reality of existence; he observes closely, and he enjoys his observation: for it is out of these images that he interprets life, out of these processes that he trains himself for life. It is not only pleasant and agreeable images that he experiences with such universal understanding: the serious, the gloomy, the sad and the profound, the sudden restraints, the mockeries of chance, fearful expectations, in short the whole ‘divine comedy’ of life, the Inferno included, passes before him, not only as a shadow-play — for he too lives and suffers through these scenes — and yet also not without that fleeting sense of illusion; and perhaps many, like myself, can remember calling out to themselves in encouragement, amid the perils and terrors of the dream, and with success: ‘It is a dream! I want to dream on!’ Just as I have often been told of people who have been able to continue one and the same dream over three and more successive nights: facts which clearly show that our innermost being, our common foundation, experiences dreams with profound pleasure and joyful necessity.” – Friedrich Nietzsche
Here’s Part 1.
Here’s Part 2