Wednesday, April 16, 2014


It's always interesting to hear theories about creativity and madness; artists and insanity; poets and the tortured soul. It seems that there is some science behind a creative person's tendencies, and I wonder what percentage of the time the associations are true. It makes you wonder what the most put-together artist is hiding... what might have inspired his or her art, music, poetry, or writing, despite an even-keeled veneer of sociability. Sometimes, to be sure, it is purely an interest in art and the beauty of expressiveness that drives a person to create. But there is also something to the notion that, sometimes, you "just have to get it all out". There is often an urgency that drives the artist - a sense that this emotion or this thought must be expressed now. At times it is cathartic. At times it is satiric. It can be beautiful. Other times it is shocking... violent... and shakes you to your core, only serving to reinforce something that you doubted could really be true. But, all the same, it must come out.

I think that perhaps the altered perspective that results when creative outlets are pursued is what gets in the way of others seeing an artist as "normal". I know that, for years, I didn't understand why I didn't or couldn't fit in. I sought to reject the "weird" label, even though I didn't have even the slightest clue of what normal meant. I still don't. The difference between then and now is that I have slowly accepted and even embraced being odd, if begrudgingly at times... For example, it still bothers me when I get rejected for a date because it is assumed that, because I am an artist, I am a weirdo. And it can be frustrating to not understand how others arrive at their conclusions or be able to interpret their thought processes because I share no common anchor. I suspect that my creative, artistic brain gets in the way, but these social hangups are balanced by learning that some people find my perspective to be a "breath of fresh air" or that my presence is inspiring.

If I could tell the weird child who couldn't relate to anyone just how to harness and utilize her unrelatability and crazy expressiveness, I would. But I can't go back in time, so I suppose I have to accept that the process of figuring out who I am needed to include wading through the muck of being strange.

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