Catharsis

Two days ago I finally started to paint again. The first time since this summer has started...when I have less than a month left. It's a shame. Shame. Shame.

I love the way the word "catharsis" sounds. There is something almost tragic or even paralyzing about the word, not necessarily the feeling of it but the sound.

My painting will not be discussed for it's something I want to keep internal for quite awhile or possibly for as long as it takes to finish. I'm planning to finish it quite soon although I have only worked on it once so far. I will say it is a little different than what I have done before. I hope it comes out well.


ca·thar·sis /kəˈθɑrsɪs/ [kuh-thahr-sis]
1. the purging of the emotions or relieving of emotional tensions, esp. through certain kinds of art, as tragedy or music.

I have been having quite an abundance of inspiration for some time. A good deal of it stems from literature, single words, phrases, lyrics, stories. A good deal of it stems from visuals, simple, natural, artificial, abstract, literal.

It is sad to say that I don't think I will ever have the time I wish to have just to create. Create, create, and create.

It is interesting that my art tends to not have much deep meaning to it, well not all of them. However, the inspiration tends to be deeper, while yet there isn't much of a implied meaning or emotion but merely the desire and execution of creating something of my own.
I can absolutely say that it is an emotional experience while I am painting. For whatever reason I tend to paint when I'm angry or obsessive about something. I don't paint because I am angry, but I just so happen to paint when I'm angry. It's quite annoying actually, but luckily it hasn't been the case recently. This recent painting is out of happiness.

Not only do I desire to paint, but I have a proclivity to write. As I have mentioned. I still haven't started yet, but I'm in the motions. At least my ideas and emotions are.

I have an obsession with words. Or language really. Since I have been with my boyfriend, I have noticed that more and more about myself as he is much the same way. I used to love to read and write poetry when I was young although some of it didn't make sense to me. I still enjoyed it nonetheless. I personally love the melody of poetry, I love rhymes. Not rhymes just for the sake of rhymes, but the kinds that actually make wonderful sense and are cleverly relevant. Or even those that make absolutely no sense...possibly a great part in my fascination with poetry that I did not understand. I loved the enigmas they were, essentially the enigmas of the minds of those who created them. I am obsessed with trying to make sense with my writing which is a major reason why I do not write poetry anymore. A lot of my thoughts make sense to me, as I create words that have a particular and personal meaning to me but are not generally used in that way by others. But I have to realize that that does not matter. It doesn't matter if people understand it. Deep inside, I actually don't want people to understand it. Just as I tend to be anonymous with some of my writing here. I need to break out of that shell...out of the various shells that still continue to envelope me when it comes to creative and emotional releases . No matter the day, I still find a way to keep a part of me away from everyone else. And for what exactly? I haven't a clue.


If I were a vampire by the means of the myth Stephanie Meyer has created with the Twilight Saga, my power would be to read the emotions of people (or even their minds). That thought occurred to me today, although I'm quite sure I have had it before. I am becoming more and more aware of how well I can do it. Not necessarily just reading but feeling them. My empathy is only growing which I am still consciously at the same rate trying to control so I don't let it completely overtake me.