Artists and Insanity.

[RebeccaLeah]

bumping for Abs

 

[Blackie Malone]

*burp*

It's easy for me. I'm doomed to fail because I'm trying to do one of the most difficult things imaginable.

I have thing A --- which is in my head.

I make thing B -- which I WANT to be thing A, not a representation of A but actually to BE thing A.

Then you come along and see/read/hear/ thing B... but to your thing B is not thing B but thing C... because you understand the words/color/sound differently.

In your head though, thing C becomes thing D.

I, as the artist, want D = A.

*LAUGH*

So why haven't I shot myself... because I've given up on the A -> B transition (I can't succeed as the thing said some of it is unconcious/subconcious or things I WILLFULLY do not look at inside myself except when I write) and I accept wholeheartedly that B -> C is the way life is.

But there's a chance, if I'm good enough, that while A != D, that D MEANS to the reader what A means to me.

In other words, we're trying to communicate... and from what I've seen on forums, personal relationships, friendships, hatreds... that's not an easy thing to do and people get REALLY pissed when the other side doesn't 'understand' your point.

Try to imagine that but with something that is who/what/why you are instead of whether or not 'Babe Ruth or Hank Aaron was the 'greatest home run hitter'.

And oh yeah... I accept wholeheartedly that I'm writing porn so really as long as someone/anyone gets off, iss all good.

I'll leave being an artiste to others.

ps. Hmmm... I think I just proved myself insane!
Sincerely,
ElSol

Hmmmm? I don't think that's insane, I think it's brilliant because I do and don't understand it.

 

[MAD_BARD]

I say 'Embrace the Madness'......You'll live longer.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

*burp*

It's easy for me. I'm doomed to fail because I'm trying to do one of the most difficult things imaginable.

I have thing A --- which is in my head.

I make thing B -- which I WANT to be thing A, not a representation of A but actually to BE thing A.

Then you come along and see/read/hear/ thing B... but to your thing B is not thing B but thing C... because you understand the words/color/sound differently.

In your head though, thing C becomes thing D.

I, as the artist, want D = A.

*LAUGH*

So why haven't I shot myself... because I've given up on the A -> B transition (I can't succeed as the thing said some of it is unconcious/subconcious or things I WILLFULLY do not look at inside myself except when I write) and I accept wholeheartedly that B -> C is the way life is.

But there's a chance, if I'm good enough, that while A != D, that D MEANS to the reader what A means to me.

In other words, we're trying to communicate... and from what I've seen on forums, personal relationships, friendships, hatreds... that's not an easy thing to do and people get REALLY pissed when the other side doesn't 'understand' your point.

Try to imagine that but with something that is who/what/why you are instead of whether or not 'Babe Ruth or Hank Aaron was the 'greatest home run hitter'.

And oh yeah... I accept wholeheartedly that I'm writing porn so really as long as someone/anyone gets off, iss all good.

I'll leave being an artiste to others.

ps. Hmmm... I think I just proved myself insane!
Sincerely,
ElSol

People will never know exactly what you mean, whether you're writing, talking, or painting a picture. That used to drive me crazy and made me give up writing for a long time.

But if you're good enough, people will put their own interpretation on what you say, and it will still have powerful meaning and effect despite that.

Whenever you think that writing's impossible, just pick up a good book.

 

[Guest]

 

[rgraham666]

sorry..can't pick up a good book just now...my arms are full embracing madness.

I hope you're wearing a condom. Who knows where that madness has been.

 

[Guest]

 

[TheLittleWolf]

Wow what a stunning lead off article. I've been pondering this topic sevretly for years. I've been an artist all my life. Ever since Iwas able to hold a crayon I've captured snippits on paper. Some from evry day life others purley from the inner depths of my own mind.
Now as for being crazy or insane. I'ld have to say only slightly. the way I view it is Imagine you as an artist walking on a tight rope. If you fall to you left you land in the oblivion of insanity (never to return, insert evil laugh). If you fall of the right side of the tight rope you land in mediocrityville. AKA "normal" and being slightly predjudice (spelling? we really need a spell check on these things) normal = boring. Why Be Normal? I tried it once and it almost drove me crazy I was so bored. I went back to walking that fine line making my artistic observations of both sides of the spectrum. And drawing my insperation for my own work from those.

As a foot note: I created the image of artist as being a tight rope walker. Well, no one can never slip. I believe as artists we slip off that rope from time to time (sometimes to one side sometimes to the other) and that is what keeps us interesting. It keeps are creative juices flowing.

So am I as an artist insane? No but I can't say I'm sane either. If Iwas I would bore myself to death (maybe that is where the artist/suicide thing happens) I say as an artist I walk the line.

I'll also add if I stop making art I do go mad. I need art in my life everyday to stay sane. Making art to me is like prozac.

 

[TheLittleWolf]

My father was an artist who went insane

On a more personel not my father was an artist. My parents met in art school and soon after I came along. My father put down his brushes and went into construction to put food on the table and feed little ole me. He nevr painted again. And judging by the photo's I've seen of his work the world suffered a great lose when he broke his brushes. (literally)
After about 5 years of not expressing his artistic side he flipped. Bipolar/psychofrenia/manic depresive. After we tried to live with this for a few years my mom packed us up and we left. He sank deeper eventually spending manny many years in and out of severl institutions.
I tracked him down after college because I was obsessed with this Artist=Insane concept and I thought I was following his patern or it was genetics or something.
Any way, Meeting him I describe as pick a random bum off the street (and not the nice one that you say hello to every day) insert a handfull of your child hood memories (say pre 7 year old memories) into this street bums head and for me instant father figure. Now I really tried to give him a chance.
I meet with him almost a dozen times. I tried to talk about stuff relavant to the world today, or relavant to my life. He just couldn't relate. I tried to get him drawing again by giving him art supplies. They just collected dust.
I had to give up on him and close that door for my own sanity, he was making me too depressed and we could't relate on any level.
Sad I knowbut it is part of who I am.
I believe deep down in my soul that when he stopped making art he fell onto the insane side of the tight rope and could never reach back up and pull himself out.
I haven't seen or heard from him or even know his where about sfor the past 15 years and I am fine with that.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I'm sorry to hear that, Little Wolf. I lost one brilliant artist friend to suicide when we were just 23, and another friend drank himself to death at the age of 44.

It's a rough life if you take it seriously, and I think some of us are driven into it because we can't find any other way to say what we have to say. Sometimes that silence becomes more than we can take.

 

[Samandiriel]

I was able to create a balance with my scathing wit. I saved the subtleties for the more obtuse individuals. The acerbic comments I saved for those I intended on hurting. A subtle sarcasm can be taken back the later has already been marked and loaded into the chamber awaiting liberation. There is no act of contrition, no assuaging the ego or restoration of esteem.

I don’t want it to be thought that I was or still am a malicious person. I can be compassionate to a fault. I’ve committed acts of charity and philanthropy. There is no need for me to extol the virtues of my good deeds. I choose to remain anonymous and chalk up those acts to my universal tote board of karmatic points. My preference is to allow myself to be viewed as indifferent and unapproachable. People take advantage of kindness and you find yourself in a moral dilemma. Eventually you become so overwhelmed that you fall back to earth when you realize that you can’t save the world. I know because I thought I could.

My powers were limited by my mortality. It became frustrating and exhausting. I stopped watching and reading the news because as much as I wanted to feed the starving or stop the atrocities I remained powerless to do so. I realized finally that I could not save others because I couldn’t save myself. I could talk someone down from a ledge but I knew it was to clear that space for myself. The problems of others were easy to solve because I could see them clearly and come up with a resolution. I didn’t know how to fix me.

Those who chastise you or point a finger or try to thrust their good intentions on you fail to realize the personal hell you endure. They aren’t inside your head and your demons are yours and yours alone. Pain is personal whether it is physical and emotional and only you can gauge your tolerance. Sometimes the good intention of others just adds to your anguish. They are truly honest in their objectives but does anyone know what is really right for anyone else? The agony of unrequited love is one thing but how can it compare to unrequited life? No one should have to live mourning over his or her regrets.


Sam.

 

[Dar~]

SAM!!!!!!!!!!!! You have been sorely missed.

 

[Samandiriel]

SAM!!!!!!!!!!!! You have been sorely missed.

I was?

 

[matriarch]

I was able to create a balance with my scathing wit. I saved the subtleties for the more obtuse individuals. The acerbic comments I saved for those I intended on hurting. A subtle sarcasm can be taken back the later has already been marked and loaded into the chamber awaiting liberation. There is no act of contrition, no assuaging the ego or restoration of esteem.

I don’t want it to be thought that I was or still am a malicious person. I can be compassionate to a fault. I’ve committed acts of charity and philanthropy. There is no need for me to extol the virtues of my good deeds. I choose to remain anonymous and chalk up those acts to my universal tote board of karmatic points. My preference is to allow myself to be viewed as indifferent and unapproachable. People take advantage of kindness and you find yourself in a moral dilemma. Eventually you become so overwhelmed that you fall back to earth when you realize that you can’t save the world. I know because I thought I could.

My powers were limited by my mortality. It became frustrating and exhausting. I stopped watching and reading the news because as much as I wanted to feed the starving or stop the atrocities I remained powerless to do so. I realized finally that I could not save others because I couldn’t save myself. I could talk someone down from a ledge but I knew it was to clear that space for myself. The problems of others were easy to solve because I could see them clearly and come up with a resolution. I didn’t know how to fix me.

Those who chastise you or point a finger or try to thrust their good intentions on you fail to realize the personal hell you endure. They aren’t inside your head and your demons are yours and yours alone. Pain is personal whether it is physical and emotional and only you can gauge your tolerance. Sometimes the good intention of others just adds to your anguish. They are truly honest in their objectives but does anyone know what is really right for anyone else? The agony of unrequited love is one thing but how can it compare to unrequited life? No one should have to live mourning over his or her regrets.


Sam.

Believe it or not, the 'ol lady DOES understand.