Art

I love Art.

I love music and dance and drawings and paintings and photography and sculpture and animation and the way some people can spin feelings and thoughts in canvas and paper and strings and voice and partitures and a single, well timed step.

I envy all of you with a passion. I crave your voices, like silver trumpets, your rhythm, like the rain falling, your hands, steady and sure, your minds, focused and knowing, your instincts that see beauty in the marble when it's still just a block of stone.

I have none of that. I couldn't carry a tune if it had handles, I couldn't draw a straight line to save my life, I couldn't make a stick figure move with a see-through. I can't take a half-step to music without looking utterly ridiculous.

I do not have an ounce of Art in me. That fact has haunted me for as long as I could conceptualize music and drawings. I still dream, sometimes, that I can sing, or play, or dance, or draw, or animate a good story. But I can't. I would give my hand to be able to sing, or my voice so I could draw or animate the stories I imagine when I listen to music. But the world doesn't work like that, and I've made my peace with it.

But that means all of you have to make it up for me. Draw, paint, sing, play, dance, render. Create. Fill the world with a thousand thousand beautiful things. Make epic, sad, lovely and fantastic stories.

Those of you who can see the Light outside, take a piece of it and bring it to the Cavern for those of us in the Darkness.

Go.