I just love “All These Things That I’ve Done” by The Killers. It’s impossible for me to be in a bad mood once that song gets cranking in my earbuds or blasting from my computer’s speakers or the CD player I keep in the bathroom.
“When there’s nowhere else to run
“Is there room for one more son, one more son?
“If you can, hold on
“If you can, hold on
Combine it with one of my favorite uplifting movies, Elizabethtown, and you get this lovely little gem from YouTube:
I love the guitar line that weaves throughout, gospel choir parts, and the brief spoken bit that goes, “Time heals hearts.”
I’m feeling my creativity on the rise. Small seeds are germinating. I can feel them, and I am anxious for the sprouting. I’ve suffered from a dry spell recently, and this is a good thing.
So the music, and my own inner creative stirrings have me thinking about the power of the arts.
Music truly is the balm of my soul. Any time I go to do anything creative–unless it’s majestic nature photography, in which case silence is best–I’ve got music going. Drawing, painting, writing, singing (duh). It inspires, induces moods and is just incredible to me.
A friend and I recently spoke about the power of certain novels and films to provide us with a vicarious emotional cleansing.
We’d both gone, independently of each other, to see Twilight this past weekend, and, in many ways, felt cracked wide open. We have read the entire series to date, and sniffled through parts of it, Kleenex in hand, sat on the edge of our seats, and ridden the waves of first love alongside the protagonists. But seeing it on the big screen just threw emotional doors wide open. For her, she said it was healing, in a way, considering her recent life circumstances. For me, it was just losing myself in that emotional tempest. I came away feeling viscerally alive, just effortlessly, when recently feeling truly alive has been a struggle.
Any time I need a good cry, I just hole up in my room and watch Becoming Jane on my laptop, bawling like a baby.
If I need something life-affirming, I watch Elizabethtown or Catch and Release, or I read any of the 25 or more “comfort books” I have lying about.
If I have no time for movies or books, I play music while I work.
I write. Mostly blog entries as of late, but write I do. I go outside and take photographs of the beauty above, below, and everything in between. Occasionally, I paint or draw. In a conventional sense, I may not be particularly “good” at any of these things. Then again, I may. That is entirely subjective. But I do them because they make me happy, and profoundly connected to that which is larger than myself.
A life devoid of art, for me, would be a life devoid of Spirit. And yet, as we continue evolving into a society more concerned with money and the pursuit of material goods (while, at the moment, seeing the money and material goods disappear–oh, the irony), the arts become increasingly devalued. Those of us who believe in the power they hold–beyond merely being “fun things” or valuable objects–are looked at as hopeless, idealistic dreamers.
I would rather be a hopeless, idealistic dreamer, though.
To the artists who may eventually run across this–or even if none of you do–thank you for putting your work out there. Thank you for sharing these little pieces of your soul with the world. Even if no one sees your creation, thank you for creating and keeping creativity flowing through the Universe.