Expressions: perhaps that best describes the three-letter word.
But do these things that we create have to be necessarily redemptive by nature?
Many people write to give others hope, yet others who usher the audience into a new fantastical world with the intent to entertain. Anything dark or macabre often finds its complement in satire/a happy-ish ending, restoring the balance between yin and yang.
Art has played a deciding role in our knowledge of the past, ourselves and the future: somewhat like Oedipa Maas, only greater in number; the act of delving into lesser known parts of ourselves like an exercise in mass introspection.
Straightforward records of time, thinly veiled reality paraded as fantasy, strokes that spoke, refrains that haunt. These expressions have led to our direction today.
They have inspired, launched us into our own orbits of fictitious thought and tune; revolted us, sometimes. These things that lie under the blanket of art, they constructed a window into their parents' souls, even long after they were dead.
Autobiographical bent; a race to save oneself in the name of saving others.
I suspect I am not the only one whose imagination births from a universe where I, not the sun, is the center. I am the villain (I harbor slight dislike for the courageous hero, barring the odd Naruto) or hero; I am god.
According to my ever-changing script with characters, all of them parts of me, I create.
For applause, for recognition. For self-satisfaction. For the sake of letting the darned idea out of my head. For entertainment. For money.
But does the creator have the responsibility to play grandma to us? To tell us scary stories on a stormy night only to end it with a mug of steaming hot chocolate?
I think we take this balance between good and bad, as 'stewards of humanity' who shall give light in times of hopelessness and despair. Some of the most well-remembered works, though, have been written in desperate times... Victor Frankl. David Foster Wallace.
I'm not saying I look down upon people who keep other people in mind while making things, but rather, wondering out loud: do we always have to keep them in the back of our mind and serve them the -- hot chocolate at the end?
Where does the need to reach out to others arise in midst of the selfish act of creating something in our image?
What if something was made only to drag you through a personal hell? Will enrapture still persist despite the despair?
To what extent does the audience's (for lack of a better word) experiences shape their reception of what you create?
Questions, questions.
