Art means something to me and I think it is most appropriate to reply to this post with my personal statement I wrote for colleges:
Art is an idea formed in the soul and spoken out to society. In Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare stated, “The object of art is to give life a shape.” A friend once asked me what made my life worthwhile. I replied that if I were unable to produce art, to evoke emotion and express myself, I would rather die. This startled him. He, like most people, thinks of art as unpractical, unsuccessful, and unaccountable.
Art, to him, is not a necessity, with no true evolutionary purpose. Some might argue that a fork is more practical than art. Yet, the fork, once upon a time, was a piece of art. It was an idea that sparked in someone’s head. From just a mere thought to a sketch to a verbal subject, and finally physically crafted from wood, the creation process and the fork, itself, were art.
Although art cannot be physically consumed by my body, it is crucial to my life; I digest the thoughts fed to me from society, process it, and create my own opinion. This freedom of expression played a further significant and intimate role when I was struggling with depression my junior and senior year. My feelings seemed impossible to adequately articulate when I had the disease. My only outlet for my complex thoughts and emotions was through the creation of visual arts.
I remember isolating myself from my dearest friends and family daily. I locked myself in my room for several days, repeatedly painting gray lines, the same color that seemed to haunt my daily life. Through painting, I was able to release my frustration and my physical pain from migraines and frequent nights of insomnia. Soon, the trees in my scenic paintings darkened over time, the once glowing sunset dulled, and the faces blurred and faded into each other. Every stroke I place on the canvas was filled with bitterness, exhaust, and agony.
While people neglect art to avoid misery and poverty as the notorious starving artist stereotype does, I sought art as a solace from my personal distress. Art has been uplifting; fantastic poets, authors, and songs motivated me to live on. I find no charm in the American Dream; money cannot buy my happiness or success. My fulfillment is the freedom of expression.
Although art is broad and unaccountable, I understand all tangible things are fleeting. One day, unfortunately, close friends, family and belongings must perish. Art never dies. Art is science, a question. Art is philosophy, a thought. Art is human, an emotion. It does not solely apply to visuals; it can only be seen with the heart.
Art lives on through other people, shaping their lives. Every time someone attempts to interpret it, a new seed of idea is planted. It is a concept that grows in every single individual, changing, morphing and reshaping daily.
I am an artist. Although my external form will decay one day, I hope to use my voice to live on through others, through art.
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