This is an old post from my previous blog. It pretty much sums up why I write....
It's been a while since my last post. In fact it's been a while since I've written anything outside of a class assignment. I shouldn't be writing this now. I should be working on a paper for my lit class. Seven pages, due Tuesday. But as I sat here staring at a half filled word document, the insertion point persistently and plaintively blinking, my thoughts wandered to my experience with writing. I am not an accomplished writer and I can't say that I really enjoy writing in either a purely hedonistic or more fulfilling way. That said I am called to it. I'm called to put the random philosophical wanderings of my mind into physical form. Not for recognition from others or for some personal fulfillment. I think I'm simply called to create.
I can't completely wrap my mind around this idea, although it is something I see in all forms of art. All art is an expression. Whether the message is purely aesthetic or a political manifesto, all art, literature, painting, and music included, is an expression of the artists opinion, judgement or thinking on a subject. And yet, while art is clearly an expression, often times the purpose of art is not to express an idea to others. Many of the greatest artistic accomplishments in history were only discovered after the death of the creator.
So why are called to create, to express, if we are not explicitly called to publish our expressions; to spread them? The religious part of me says that this is because we are created in the image of God, the ultimate creator, and therefore, like God, we are called to create. In that same vein, our frustration with our ability or inability to create is tied in with our natural imperfection and inability to truly match the awesome capability of our creator. This also explains why children bring us some of our purest moments of joy. Giving birth to and raising a child is the closest we will ever come to achieving the incredible life creating innovation of God.
Of course my more secular, and somewhat pessimistic side, tells me that my need to create is tied in with my fear of death. I have a yearning desire to make my impermanence permanent. To carve statues from my fleeting thoughts. On some level we are all painfully aware of our temporary status here on Earth, and this very real fear drives us to attempt any possible chance at immortality. This can also tie in to our joy at raising children in our likeness.
So where does this leave me with writing? Can I move closer to God by creating a life of words? Can I stave off the hallow grip of death with a literary armor?
I can't answer these questions or many others. What I do know is that I am a void and that words, more than any of my other addictions, fill this void, if only ephemerally.
It's been a while since my last post. In fact it's been a while since I've written anything outside of a class assignment. I shouldn't be writing this now. I should be working on a paper for my lit class. Seven pages, due Tuesday. But as I sat here staring at a half filled word document, the insertion point persistently and plaintively blinking, my thoughts wandered to my experience with writing. I am not an accomplished writer and I can't say that I really enjoy writing in either a purely hedonistic or more fulfilling way. That said I am called to it. I'm called to put the random philosophical wanderings of my mind into physical form. Not for recognition from others or for some personal fulfillment. I think I'm simply called to create.
I can't completely wrap my mind around this idea, although it is something I see in all forms of art. All art is an expression. Whether the message is purely aesthetic or a political manifesto, all art, literature, painting, and music included, is an expression of the artists opinion, judgement or thinking on a subject. And yet, while art is clearly an expression, often times the purpose of art is not to express an idea to others. Many of the greatest artistic accomplishments in history were only discovered after the death of the creator.
So why are called to create, to express, if we are not explicitly called to publish our expressions; to spread them? The religious part of me says that this is because we are created in the image of God, the ultimate creator, and therefore, like God, we are called to create. In that same vein, our frustration with our ability or inability to create is tied in with our natural imperfection and inability to truly match the awesome capability of our creator. This also explains why children bring us some of our purest moments of joy. Giving birth to and raising a child is the closest we will ever come to achieving the incredible life creating innovation of God.
Of course my more secular, and somewhat pessimistic side, tells me that my need to create is tied in with my fear of death. I have a yearning desire to make my impermanence permanent. To carve statues from my fleeting thoughts. On some level we are all painfully aware of our temporary status here on Earth, and this very real fear drives us to attempt any possible chance at immortality. This can also tie in to our joy at raising children in our likeness.
So where does this leave me with writing? Can I move closer to God by creating a life of words? Can I stave off the hallow grip of death with a literary armor?
I can't answer these questions or many others. What I do know is that I am a void and that words, more than any of my other addictions, fill this void, if only ephemerally.
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