Mind over Matter, Really?

For the past few days, I have been thinking about art, imagination, creativity and the close relationship they nurture with the destruction or the deprecation of oneself.
I never thought that surfing through the television channels on a mildly lazy mayday afternoon I would come across the spark I needed to pose my question.

Gia, Basquiat, Modigliani, Morrisson, Hendrix. Their stories have left this permanent reminder of the mind’s power to see, feel, react and reason. Over this certain period of time, which I modestly term as my ‘age’.
These names, I have come across through the very trusted mediums of movies and books, and everytime I am surprised at how easily, they have used their brains as objects of desire, fulfillment and artistic bliss. They see colours we only dream of, they can hear voices unheard of, they sway their spectator with the utmost elegance towards their way of life, towards what they see, and to just give them a glimpse of how beautiful their world is, we as the audience are enclosed in the boundaries of the frame.
The painting limits us to just that particular vision, it’s funny in a way, the artist derives a certain sadistic pleasure of dangling the bait and eventually feeding it to us, but it’s too late because we are already on our way in this ocean of responsibilities, the ‘real’ world. And the artist just stays there, who’s laughing now? That’s his question. I’d bet my life on it.

So, here I am posing my little question, Art is very seldom appreciated in the artist’s lifetime, he is questioned though, and his answers never find the questions they deserve, so the questions really never get answered. The world undergoes a certain renaissance of ideas and boom. That’s where everything is, Art is bought.

A note, a stroke. It belongs to where it comes from, the real appreciation is from the originality of its existence, it exists because it is real for the one who creates it. There is my thin little line I manage to draw with utmost ease, I am baffled at the thought of losing my mind, addressing it an affirmation for every minute whim and diverting my whole body’s attention towards chasing a single shine in my endeavor to claim my diamond.

The self-destructing legends of the modern world have, as mentioned, destroyed themselves or have they really been creating possibly the orbs of light that the ones to follow are the ones who learn from their mistakes, but will there ever be another Modigliani fighting another Picasso? Or another Jim Morrisson almost lighting a ‘joint’ on stage with a cop behind him!? Or another Gia Marie Carangi, fittingly, the string of other supermodels who were to follow her lead called themselves ‘gia’s girls’…

These incidents arise tremendous interest in me, I tend to get to the bottom of why they turned astray when I realized that they were heading home. They are home, and I will keep on pondering on the single thought, I am not an artist, but I appreciate what they do, I am a spectator but I love to see what they create and I like to put myself in their shoes when I see something they have created, am I posing as one of them? Or am I just experiencing one of life’s unexplained vices, or am I plain simply overwhelmed at the human mind? I will always keep my central question to, ‘why does the body fade at the quest for mental sanctity?’ Are the two at a divine balance? And why is it that the one’s who refuse to balance themselves, attain divinity for their own selves in their own little way. Strange, is life.