While I don't usually start any of my pieces (actually, never) with a philosophical statement, I truly believe that good art breeds creativity. Art that emerges amidst intense feelings and emotions, particularly that of love and passion, pulls on threads deep within our soul. Media is a prime example of this statement. While media is being consumed day in and day out, there are certain moments in media that leave me sitting at the edge of my seat, with my heart in my throat and my head in my hand. These are my favourite moments, but also my saddest.
There is this incomprehensible feeling that washes over me after I’ve consumed art that I know will forever change me. It comes in waves, from slow ripples to all-consuming tides to the serenity after a groundbreaking storm. At first, it feels as though I've been zapped by a 1000 volts. Goosebumps litter my arms, my hair stands on end, and a shiver permeates me from head to toe. My head is in the clouds, my thoughts all disoriented and the only thing I can seem to remember is who I am now. After this masterpiece, as before this, I was incomplete.
Then the feeling subdues. I go home, brush my teeth, eat my food and work through my daily existence - only to be attacked again, this time by a tide. With it, the tide brings a rush of dopamine, one that you can never experience from another. It drowns you in conspiracies, convictions and queries, not giving you even a moment to rise above. Suddenly, it goes from just a source of media to something more. An onslaught of life-altering beliefs and a renewed sense of passion leaves me uneasy, fidget-y. And this imbues me with the acute need to write. Gone are my days of stagnancy and slumps, as I am now wanton with the need to create art. I channel it all, from pen to paper. The perplexity of my thoughts is all-consuming.
However, this as well dies down - leaving me with a melancholy feeling of loss. I am left with feelings of uncertainty, not knowing whether I have the privilege to feel this way again, even ages and ages from now. I try time and time again to replicate this feeling by rewatching or rereading these favourites of mine but am always left perpetually disappointed. Those same feelings of angst, irritation, happiness, and sadness don't return- leaving a gaping hole in my heart that was once filled. I harbour a sadness deep within my soul, knowing not every piece of media I consume will fill my stomach with butterflies like this did. But I also nurture hope. That one day not too long from now, I will find another of my favourites. Down a perilous road of sadness and suffering, my one boon lies within the art I consume and the feelings I attach