Friday, 21 November 2014

Words: The True Medium of the Artist

In my family, we’re all artists. Some of us create music, some us taught music, my aunt is a professional cellist and my cousin, Renée, was a dancer/choreographer, and my other cousin, Hank, whom we’re all super-proud of, is a stage performer with his wife, based out of Switzerland. Their act is called Full House. Look them up! You’ll be happy you did.

On my father’s side, I don’t know if anyone else had any especial talents, but my father, Harry, both paints and writes and makes music. He is professor Emeritus at College of Miseracordia in Pennnsylvania. I’m thrilled with so much artistry in my families.

I’m an artist, as most of you know. I love my art, and I hate it, too. Nothing makes an artist more crazy than their own material; we are all overly aware of our own errors.

And... in my family, we are all writers in our hearts.

The Internet has given us the means to practise and perfect our crafts. What is writing for if not to reveal something of ourselves? Not that this is an issue for me. I love writing and find it exceedingly freeing.

I was talking to someone on FaceBook and suddenly I got all kinds of carried away: “[FaceBook] is the forum of the utterly illiterate, as much as the forum of the very well-read and written. Although I know we are grossly outrun by what I sourly refer to as the ‘lowest common denominator’. I have had far too much free time on my brain, if you knew all the self-created terms I've come up with. But then, you don't know me THAT well. Under the artist's angst beats the heart of true sarcasm and witticism - English is my only language, but one I know it backwards, forwards, love it, live for it. Life is nothing without language. It is the magic we weave, the stories we tell, the laughs we desire! The way to tell someone how much you love them, the soft words of affection that I give to my husband of 25 years, the words of praise I give to you, the word of hate I sometimes feel. I wish I didn't have those, but words can cut and words can heal. I find that expressing those worst words do much to heal me. I have to ask you if you find that so, as well..."

It turns out the person I was speaking with agreed. The conversation wasn’t just good, but exceptional. It isn’t often I have the great good fortune to encounter an intelligent, fascinating person to speak with!

He also paid me one of the best, hands down, compliments I have ever received: “You're clearly a very switched on person Aislinge!„

How is this not the best compliment ever?

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