“All forms of madness, bizarre habits, awkwardness in society, general clumsiness, are justified in the person who creates good art.”
― Roman Payne
We found ourselves at the edge of exhaustion when at early hours before dawn, we are driven by this creative madness that doesn’t let us sleep, but dream through our pen, brush, or bow. At the artist’s hours, when everyone’s asleep, but we are there, putting words in order, notes on the staff, and mixing up the colors. There is this magical time in the night that creates art like no other time existing, watches are no longer useful, and everything feels the miraculous vibe around. The shadows moon is sending, the blinking water stars, the mist, and whole nature that stays still, creating the perfect environment for the person who creates good art. But there is more, and the true madness is not starting right after dusk, but much later, when everything grows in their heart, and is filled up to the point of implosion. It evaporates in the sunlight, and condensate in the night because there is no more magical factory than the dark. This madness creation is like hunting ghosts, we can feel it, we might think we saw them but are never real and not able to touch them. These hunting feelings drove the artist mad but for him are real because he believes in that callings and in that passion that wakes him up at midnight and starts creating. How is that real, how is that possible, to leave the comfortable bed and the beloved and stay up all night because the creativity is stronger than the lover? There is no end to those nights, and perfection is the only way to make these stop. However, in artists’ hands, nothing is perfect, because he believes that can do more, and more and even more than everything that was created. What other things that haven’t been told might be missing from all this madness creativity? It was written already in all those poems, it was sung through those notes, it was painted on all those canvases. Why there is so much driven to things that are already said and played? There isn’t enough sorrow or unspoken words? There is not enough mourning sent out in this Universe? What makes the artist following their passion to exhaustion? Is it the creative madness or the destructive passion that takes it all from them?
“She wanted something else, something different, something more. Passion and romance, perhaps, or maybe quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or perhaps something as simple as not being second.”
― Nicholas Sparks
We are there, in the middle of the night, fully awake looking for some answers. We want miracles that have never seen the light, we want to see the shadows transforming in dancing fairies. We want the night because even if nothing exists for real, at least under the candlelight, things feel simple in that decor. The conversations are real, without false masks, without boundaries and the words are spoken from the heart. Still, there are more creatures that would prefer the light than hiding in the dark, and no one wants to leave their shadows to come down in the dark and follow their true madness. We have all seen what is shown to us, what is presented on that beautiful stage that we call “Life”, but there is more, and when we don’t want the common anymore, we are looking for something else. Something different, something more, that is filled with passion and desire, even if is something that would last a second, at least feels real. We can’t condemn someone that sold their soul to darkness, but also for their passion, and in that night of sorrow, one more conversation feels not that hard to manage after all. The truth on the table, with the cards upright, with the fool as the leader and the wheel of fortunes that starts spinning.
“I understood myself only after I destroyed myself. And only in the process of fixing myself, did I know who I really was.”
― Sade Andria Zabala
If everything would be that easy, everyone would be able to do it anytime. But there is a price to pay when coming from such a failure, and that must be a beloved, family, or something bigger, like yourself. We are not realizing how important we are in our lives, and if our place is not grounded and rooted, no other big achievements can be made. We are leaving our dreams to get dusty, we are leaving others to destroy our lives, and in the end, we are the ones responsible for our self-destruction. No one can hurt us without permission, no one can enter our homes without invitation, and no others can leave us behind without higher expectations. Yet, there is nothing lost when we can choose ourselves, and never count the loss we had from others. What has been lost, are just moments that couldn’t fulfill our dreams, that couldn’t get higher than our expectations. Still, that’s not too much loss, and even from the bottom of the well, we are still able to recover if we can understand ourselves. This path is the only way to takes us home, and every step we take, and every thought that follows the one before, can lead us in the process, to fix ourselves. Is not a miraculous way, is not madness, is not even destruction, but just a recovery that can bring us to the starting point, so we can start all, once again. When we get a second or just another countless chance, we often forget to be grateful for that opportunity, and we are not aware that we are blessed. We can be blinded, we can be scared, we can try to hide behind the wounds, yet there is no time to waste after all the hard work, the best achievement we could get is finding back ourselves.
“You’ve got this life and while you’ve got it, you’d better kiss like you only have one moment, try to hold someone’s hand like you will never get another chance to, look into people’s eyes like they’re the last you’ll ever see, watch someone sleeping like there’s no time left, jump if you feel like jumping, run if you feel like running, play music in your head when there is none, and eat cake like it’s the only one left in the world!”
― C. JoyBell C.
We are getting there through the tunnel of madness, and everything is ending up in passion, even if that’s the destructive one, is still what is left to hold, cutting through the flesh, when holds it up, too tight. Yet, there is no need to hold them back, those nights and people that wanted to leave before the dawn, are free to go. We are not here to hold prisoners, no one that doesn’t want what’s left to live from passion and desire is welcome to remain if that is not their wish. We are not all prepared to jump out of the stiff cliff and feel the breeze that goes through our curls before we feel the warmth of the ocean and getting in deep waters. We are given a chance to live life without ego, but sharing and spreading pure joy, and unconditional love, that comes from too much sorrow, and from the deepest chambers of our souls. We are left on Earth to embrace these feelings and to live like there is no other day left to experience what is given: a kiss, a word, a poem, a song, or a picture. Everything is made from a creative madness or a destructive passion, but what is left behind, is something that teachers cannot teach, and students cannot learn. The good art is learned through passion and through madness, that doesn’t let you sleep, that doesn’t let you fail. Is there every night, until is dripping from our souls, the last drop of desire and everything that wasn’t felt or seen. There is no other way to get those feeling about, but from art, and what inspires all these artists, is the love, the one that never came out from the light of candles and from the haze of darkness.
I welcome you to follow the tale of that young lady who understood that life on Earth is either created out of madness or from passionate love and either one cannot be described to simple…
….continue reading the rest of the tale in PART 61