Why do we create? As an absurd
explanation to the stagnant days we’re trying to get out of? To shape up an
escape route, one piled high with interesting ways of seeing the unappealing
reality around us, giving it meanings and substrate?
The substance of our creation loses
adherence to this reality the moment it enters it. Trapped in-between universes
– the inside one, where our minds rumble and grumble about insignificant truths
and universally accepted lies – the written word, the painted picture, the choreographed
dance routine, the envisioned sound compositions equally seep through, into
oblivion, unless they stumble upon an acceptance.
The fight for finding acceptance
is what we deny, convincing ourselves that it is the mere act in itself that is
of vital importance, anything else just tainting it with triviality.
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