The true beauty of Art (in my humble opinion)..

Every so often, I come across an artist whose work *really* captivates me. I am glad to say that I can even call a few of them my friends, to varying degrees of closeness. I can appreciate art in all forms, and my standards aren't so high that I am elitist about my appreciation, but I am referring to those few who really stand out. Upon stumbling across one such artist, I started to wonder what exactly it was that separated the great from the extraordinary, personally. The answer I guess is quite simple, and quite personal- its how much you can relate; how much it "speaks" to you, if you will..

That, however, is not what this post is about. That was the background, the start of the train of thought which led to illumination. This realisation of what sets art apart from other forms of creative expression, in my opinion, is what makes art really beautiful.

I think, its the ability to bare your soul, in the most visceral form; in a way that only those who could relate and are likely to understand, will. The uniqueness is that, art is like code. It is plain as day if you have the key, but completely illegible without. Without the key, at best you can appreciate the pattern that the seemingly meaningless creation forms. The best part is, that this aspect is often hidden, and quite apart from the general perception of "beauty". The beauty of  the message is quite distinct from its visual appeal. There are even times that seemingly the most hideous visual specimens are the deepest, most meaningful pieces of art you might ever witness, if only you have the eyes to see it.

And to me, this is the true beauty of art; this dichotomy, and the almost intimate connection that is just begging to be made, out in the open, yet somehow...invisible, other than to those who would understand. That, in my opinion, is true "beauty"...

Aimless...

Possibly one of the worst parts about dealing with depression is, that when you hit that low, you just feel so.....aimless. It becomes this terrible struggle to find meaning and purpose. Just something to hold on to, some little thread to pull you along. Because its exhausting when you try to do it all by yourself. Even though you know that that is actually all you can really rely on, in the end.

Thankfully, there are so many things that allow one to distract oneself from the fact, but there are times when nothing works. Or maybe, there are times when the right distractions are hard to come by.

Solitude is possibly not the healthiest state for someone like me, but there is cold comfort in the lack of expectation that the person you are talking to actually does, and will continue to hear and understand you. Its easier to trick yourself into believing that you are amazing in your uniqueness, so much so that no one truly understands you. One of the many lies we tell ourselves to cope, to get through the day. Its at times like these though, that you wonder what its all for. Why must we cope? Why must we go on? What is the meaning of all this?

Some people have their gods. Others, their dreams. Yet others, those human connections that somehow, regardless of how twisted and flawed them may be, make things worthwhile. But what of those who have none of that? What of them? What do they do? Questions. Unanswerable, yet there all the same.