By the time I went to college I had lived in over seventeen different houses, flats and rooms. A nomadic lifestyle driven by my parents' inability to manage money...
Art, whether with paint or words or voice, doesn't always (if ever) come out of beauty. It springs from hurt, from grief, from pain, from bitterness, from the ground, the dirt, the things you can't forget or understand. And somehow it turns it into a different form for those who see or read or hear it. And sometimes they won't forget, but they may understand.
You're right, Liz. Perhaps when we reshape something to try and share that emotion, experience etc. and we succeed, that's the most profound thing we can achieve.
Images bounce out of the words — almost photographic . A tale told excellently
Thanks John.
Art, whether with paint or words or voice, doesn't always (if ever) come out of beauty. It springs from hurt, from grief, from pain, from bitterness, from the ground, the dirt, the things you can't forget or understand. And somehow it turns it into a different form for those who see or read or hear it. And sometimes they won't forget, but they may understand.
You're right, Liz. Perhaps when we reshape something to try and share that emotion, experience etc. and we succeed, that's the most profound thing we can achieve.