When everything goes wrong, one needs to find a way of crawling back from darkness before all light runs out. Before falling into madness, or surely just give up on life, on believing. I tend to say sometimes the devil comes back. These little demons inside our heads… who doesn’t have them? Who are the lucky ones with no little demons inhabiting their brain cells?
When everything goes wrong, with your life, with the world, with people, one needs to strenght to move on and not be molded by that same darkness. The way I see it you can either let yourself be pulled down, or embrace life and live on.
I do tend to forget that, quite a lot. Words are beautiful, easy to say. Finding courage, strength… that’s a completely different story. Specially when you look around and all you see is so despicable it makes the Devil himself shrink in disgust.
I was thinking about this and other random shit when I saw the light installation at the Tate Britain by Ceryth Wyn Evans. You see, the beauty of art is the feelings in awakes in you. On a way, or the other, a piece of art might be completely indifferent to you and yet full of meaning to someone else. Sometimes they try to give it a very specific meaning, its very own concept of what it is supposed to represent. But that’s bullshit, don’t you see? the beauty of art is own its multiplicity of meanings. The very end of a piece of art is not for you to understand the artist, but for you to understand yourself. To build your own reality.
When I put my eyes on this, my first realisation was space and chaos, relativity and acceleration. Perhaps very nerdy sort of notions, but the Universe is so vast and mysterious and yet so uncannily hopeful. As if knowing how small and insignificant we actually relativise all my problems, and the shit that goes on in this world. a piece of art reminded me of having faith, reminded me that chaos is what makes me want to live. the mystery, the unknown, the possibility of constant change.
Yes, pull me back up.