Ssshh, Wait!

I think the Nobel is the reason.


I was reading a savvy introduction to Animation Studies, ed. by Jayne Pilling, and was determined to finish the final two essays before enjoying the meal of my choice: chocolates. Not tto assume that I didn’t want to read, I think I couldn’t countenance my personal encounter with the distinguished winners of the already-mentioned prize.


Perhaps, it’s funny that I found myself in the position of a flummoxed bull, who doesn’t realize the predicament it is in, but is silently humbled, piece-by-piece, by more than a hundred matadors, all clad in elevated attires. Every matador was distinct, and their fancy attires clearly revealed their personas, that I, the bull, was fascinated to wear, tempted.


The more poetry I compose, the more rejections I receive, and this is true to the plight of emerging/budding artists. Indeed, it possesses all the darkness to consume their light, and it’s discomforting to witness the fall of unrisen talents, the death of a growing paradise. No doubts, the world is changing, and in the current waves of thoughts, I can see, at close proximity, the dying imagination that could have been gifted with the very platform it had long awaited to rest over, and bud the most beautiful, the most fiery embers of sand… art. 


I emphasize death – maybe it’s the motif of the century, or maybe deprivation is analogous to the death of the artist? Who to ask? Perhaps, it’s a bizarre question to ask, and maybe, it should be speculated over once you’ve heard me write. Don’t abandon it. 


Just like not abandoning your art, not abandoning the creative-side, the glorious-side… the side that favors humanity over everything else. It’s about time you initiate your creative revelations as a lotus blooms out… petal-by-petal. Read, and read, but the most important task is to be aware, to be proud (both of yourself and the work), and believe, as says the Irish novelist and playwright, Lucy Caldwell, “that there are stories that only you can tell”.


Everybody has seen the sun shining; what I am awaiting is your sun to shine high, glittered with rainbow skies and honey birds, and dazzling waterfalls, against lofty candy-floss and edible green, all crayoned on the canvas you shall call “the work that changed my life”.


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