I’m supposed to be writing something that will inspire you. Make you bother to read. That is a heavy task in winter, in the dark, under the weight of shared suffering.
Art is the task of healing one’s soul from the sorrows of life. And the process of tempering one’s joy with the recognition of mortality. There is death in every moment of life, inherent in everything we make is the sense of the shortness of our time.
Where is wisdom in this? It allows us to see beyond ourselves, see the metaphor in time and the symmetry of cyclic events. It binds us to one another in times of tragedy.
There has been enough tragedy in my circle to go around. Death of two mothers. Death of a family’s wholeness. Terrible scourging illness. With money and donations, we as a group of friends and artists have tried to support our sisters. But it is through making beauty out of nothingness that we pull back the curtains of despair.