The stadium overflowed with anticipation. Benjamin had eyes for none except the piano in the centre. His piano. On it, he was home more than at his own home.
He looked at the keys, sensing how the cold keys would warm up as he played. The wooden body shone bright and welcoming.
He sat and a breathed deep. One moment, his hands hovered but the next, the music took over. His fingers waltzed on white and black keys alike, never discriminating.
He sat impassive, mind guiding his fingers. He couldn’t hear the applause. Or the sound of his own music.
I gawked at the short, muscly woman walking through the massive doors. She wore beige pants and a loose blue blouse, with tomboyish, straight black hair sitting snug on her head.
She avoided the artists, wandering alone breezing through people and portraits alike.
Soon she found a chair in a corner to people watch. She seemed incapable of appreciating art and I wondered why she stayed. Yet she lingered, unperturbed as the clock ticked closer to judgement. When it did, I stood, gulped and turned to the stage.
She was the judge; the renowned artist I had dreamt of meeting.
Ever had that feeling of being lost? The frustration of not being able to be as good as you want to be? I know I’ve had that feeling – still do, but that’s when we need words like these. To calm the soul, to assure us that it’s all going to be fine. Because everyone’s gone through it. Every artist faces a point where he or she’s torn between scarcity and abundance.
Art doesn’t make money grow on trees; we all know that. And we still choose to do it.
What do we hope for, when we continue to create art despite knowing that it might only lead us down poverty’s path?
Are we hoping for the next best seller? The cover image of a popular art magazine? The headlines of the reputed news channel that no one but the rich have the time to while away on?
Hell yes! Every artist hopes for recognition. And abundance.
But these’s more…
It’s not just the glitter that we’re after. We create art, because we have to. Because knowing that you want to be an artist and not working on it, is like burying all your dreams and accepting a hideous mask in this already two-faced world.
And as artists, we can’t do that.
So we create art instead – the only thing we can do to stay sane. Such art comes from the heart; it’s raw, it’s fresh and it connects with its audience.
And once we’ve reached that point, the glitter follows.
It’s a beautiful life, an artist’s. And Amanda Palmer has beautifully phrased it in her book, ‘The Art of Asking.’ I haven’t read the book, but after reading a few excerpts, the book’s now on my list. If you enjoyed this excerpt, you might want to check out another one I shared sometime ago, also from the same book.
P.S: The image is a screenshot from Brain Pickings Weekly (with their signature yellow quotation mark.)
The Chaos Within 