Adam;FifthChild
New Member
- May 10, 2025
- 2
Hello everyone this is some of my writing that I would like to share. Not sure if anyone else feels this way or not.
5/11/25 4:27 am
What is art? If you really ponder on it, art is lines on paper forming an image, or an assortment of letters to make words. Nothing more. And yet no one can define its meaning. Every artist must discover for themselves what art truly is. For me, art is something terrifying.
When I was younger, adults and kids called me an "image maker," as if I were creating living souls. I used to imagine that on Judgment Day, God would summon me and demand I breathe life into them. And if I couldn't—if I failed—He would punish me. All because I picked up a pencil and paper at 10 years old, trying to make something out of myself—as if creating art could keep me alive one more year.
Yet I hate art. I hate that every mark I make has to mean something. That every line I draw, every word I write, must carry weight—as if beauty isn't enough. That nothing can just simply be. That even my pain has to be poetic.
But what's the point of art if it doesn't have meaning?Isn't art about the human experience? Is that why we reject art that feels empty—because we crave something to relate to?
I honestly don't care what the answer is. Art has always been a type of self-preservation for me…But I don't feel like creating anything anymore, so now I don't feel like living anymore.
That's all for now. Goodbye and I love you
-FifthChild
5/11/25 4:27 am
What is art? If you really ponder on it, art is lines on paper forming an image, or an assortment of letters to make words. Nothing more. And yet no one can define its meaning. Every artist must discover for themselves what art truly is. For me, art is something terrifying.
When I was younger, adults and kids called me an "image maker," as if I were creating living souls. I used to imagine that on Judgment Day, God would summon me and demand I breathe life into them. And if I couldn't—if I failed—He would punish me. All because I picked up a pencil and paper at 10 years old, trying to make something out of myself—as if creating art could keep me alive one more year.
Yet I hate art. I hate that every mark I make has to mean something. That every line I draw, every word I write, must carry weight—as if beauty isn't enough. That nothing can just simply be. That even my pain has to be poetic.
But what's the point of art if it doesn't have meaning?Isn't art about the human experience? Is that why we reject art that feels empty—because we crave something to relate to?
I honestly don't care what the answer is. Art has always been a type of self-preservation for me…But I don't feel like creating anything anymore, so now I don't feel like living anymore.
That's all for now. Goodbye and I love you
-FifthChild
