(She’s deadly afraid she’d “lose” it if things get good.)
– Can art just… leave you?
– No; but you can stop feeding it.
– How come? Feeding?
– Yes. Your talent feeds on whatever you give it. As long as life throws things at you: lovers, drama, trouble… you find inspiration. Get your life in perfect order, bam! inspiration gone. Trick is, you can feed it yourself.
– Isn’t this, like, a fraud?
– You have been thrown around aimlessly by the raging sea for so long you’ve become afraid of being a captain.
You can’t decide. Fueled by the pills, your life force, cheap alcohol, and random interpersonal encounters, you carry on. Sad is not an opposite of happy; dead is not an opposite of alive. They coexist. Whatever drugs get you running, they don’t replace something with something else. They add. This emotional concoction is barely bearable, but the drugs take care of that, too… mostly. The gnawing feeling catches up with you late at night. Coloring everything with panic, clenching your fists and your teeth, making you promise tomorrow will be different. Guess what: it won’t. You can’t fight your demons in the darkness, for they thrive on it. Reveal them in the daytime, though, and it’s all different: they get all the weaker… but scarier, too.
My head is full of such pictures; and of bright, searing light.
You don’t get to choose to be an ice witch. It’s brought upon you by life; by circumstances; by lovers. And once you get to be one, you get to freeze hearts, unconsciously. You pay the price. You divert all your energy towards something else. Sometimes it’s books, sometimes it’s art, sometimes it’s drink. Whatever you choose, you easily pay the ultimate price. You lose your friends, lose your past… sometimes you almost lose your life. For ice, as much appeal it holds, always longs to take their children back.
A new art museum just opened. A fine excuse to hit the town.
(This was yet another adventure that led to another adventure that led to another. Seems that when things happen, they happen all the time; when they don’t, it’s so silent you can hear the crickets in the distance.)