Art is a language. We make art because we have something to say. But how do we say it?
At times art feels like a message in a bottle, cast into a vast ocean of nothing. Even if that bottle finds an elusive someone, that person may well throw it back to sea, finding nothing of interest, for as intriguing as a bottle floating in emptiness, the message within is nothing but a simple few words. Nothing fancy. Nothing to hold anyone’s interest for more than a mere few seconds. There are other worldly things that are shinier, more colourful, more suited to the tastes of the horde.
Yet, every time I cast a bottle, I hope it finds someone who will read it with keen interest. With luck, maybe it’ll find a little town full of passionate souls.
But maybe not. I should be better at my language. It’s not good enough. It’s not simple enough, and therefore not strong enough. The moment I sent the message, I wished I could take it back.
The language of simplicity is a difficult language to master. It’s been almost two decades now. How many more years do I need? How many more years do I have?