- Area: Humanities
- Type of Writing: Letter
- Course Level: 2000
- English Speaking Nativeness: Native
- Year: 2019
- Paper ID: H.L.2.N.2.1.1993
An Open Letter To The Tortured Artist
Dear You. This is me, Art. You may know me well or not at all. You may be creating me or ignoring that part of yourself for now.
But I want you to know.
I don’t have to be the product of your pain.
I am all around you.
Whether it’s a letter to the one you love, the color on canvas, a song from a band or the laughter of a child. I am anything that illicits a reaction within you.
Those that create Me. Those tiny gods creating everything around them.
Seeing the world as a blank canvas with a black dot in the center demanding they make that into something new.
Those who create must create because they have no choice. Their medium calls to them and they have no choice but to make it their own.
You look to those that excell in creation.
Those that paint a starry night unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Those that fill a room with laughter just with the words “Good Morning Vietnam!” A creator that paints tiny dots that resemble a Sunday in the park.
You look to those creators who excell and also see the pain and sadness that surrounds them and I. You see them and think in order to be great and create you must be in pain as well.
You don’t have to suffer for me.
You shouldn’t struggle to get out of bed every day just because I’m here. I should be a celebration of humanity, not the pain from it.
The creators that came before you didn’t just create from their pain, they created with their souls, with their emotions. They created what they did despite of all their pain because they saw the beauty around them and shared it with the world. They were incredible because they were unlike anything the world had ever seen.
So are you.
If you’re in pain, get help.
Because right now this world is a canvas with a single black dot in the middle and it up to you to fucking make me into the thing I’m meant to be.