With half my mind submerged in creative symbolism and the other half in an analytic battle deciphering the accurate meaning of Shakespearean works, I am sometimes left without hope. It seems that all the prominent writers have past; their great woks now selling for pennies. And even if they were here, would their meaning still be heard?
The words of the last generation were bound to newer ideals. They sought to explore the nature of men, not to diminish their essence to the angst of teens. Don’t get me wrong. Adolescence is a significant part of life, where we discover the potential within us. Like Olympic runners striving to pass the baton on to the next in line, we were the next to run, to achieve more than where we once stood. However, now it’s a question of whether the torch still burns.
I get it! Life is short. Life is harsh. Life is a fast paced social pretense that holds little time for great efforts. But then I think of young Laura Dekker circumnavigated the world alone. Or that Emily Bear was a world renowned composer by age seven. Great stories are based upon the actions of real people. And that’s the portrait we should create, to be creatively inspired by others, to write of incredible deeds by implausible people. It’s the stories of those people, and their unfathomable convictions, that lead to Oscars and Noble Peace Prizes.
Recently I saw a performance (I appreciate art in all forms) of singer Sia’s Chandelier. It turns out that the performance has aired on everything from Ellen to the VMA Awards. And I was completely enthralled. Whether intended or not, the marketing of the talented young dancer Maddie Zeigler is artful and inspirational. I foresee a tremendous future for them both. But what does this have to do with literature?
The entire performance is a story itself. The intrigue of talented Maddie Zeigler and the life she brings to the song, the eccentricity of Sia suppressing from the focus, the implications of the song itself, all create an amazing story. There it is, so simple and meaningful. Why can’t we aspire to write something so prolific? Have we lost the will to capture the gravity that lies within the models of life?
Art is the moving of the reader through the vision of the writer. If the art has moved you, it will evitable move others as well.