Start a fire to become a star

On the meaning of art and be(com)ing an artist

Any information that can trigger your feelings is a form of art.

When art gets to you, some symptoms are goosebumps, tears, smiles, laughter, epiphanies, awareness, inspiration, peace, aesthetic pleasure and even outrage or hate.

Any paraphrastic definition of art – or freedom, happiness, philosophy, music – is likely to be incomplete or incapable to encompass every possibility arising from each individual experience and context.

Artists are the antennas of the human species, to quote Ezra Pound.

Artists are vehicles through which art flows as they attach their own feelings to it before releasing their craft. They are born with or develop the ability to fine tune their senses to perceive different frequencies of warnings from their environment.

Like the rest of us, artists feel. But they feel more. And the delta from the average feeling is some form of hunger that can only be partially satisfied through creation.

What is the force that propels our DNA to endlessly copy itself as new cells are generated every day? What is it that drives the ballet of the planets and stars and the tap dance of unimaginable subatomic particles? Why can’t we simply reach a silent stasis? I do not know.

I know that there is beauty in not knowing though. I feel a sparkle that follows a chain of impulses that go back to the beginning of everything. I cannot imprison it in words, but I can feel the catalyst ether that never ceases to flow. As I am about to die every few seconds, it makes me breathe, it moves me, and I follow my feet since I must go somewhere. So here I am. Aware. Awake.

The artist emits waves that can be subject to reflection, refraction, or absorption. These waves carry energy, joy and suffering, knowledge and wisdom, the genetic inheritance of previous artists, and, as it reaches the surface of other people’s minds, results may vary. There may be resonance. There may be indifference. There may be difference.

The rock will not throw itself on the water. Artists are the ones to blame for the ripples.

But there is a limit to this analogy. An antenna does not consume itself in the process of channeling information. Artists do. The die one creation at a time, as every data packet carries a tiny bit of each of them, a footprint in the never-ending path.

In that sense, artists are more like stars. They shine in the dark, with energy coming from their guts, burning in the silent vacuum until they depart through implosion, explosion, or both.

Some of them become blackholes, being discussed more than being read or listened or contemplated. In such cases, the vehicle may be worshipped, receiving much more attention than the ideas left aside. Some of them go supernova, helping to form new stars, new planets, new life.

In any case, artists are the one to blame for the lights in our many skies.

I do not know why or how the stardust turn into stars or planets. I do not know if planets can be considered dormant stars, but I know there is usually fire within them. Can’t we say the same about people?

Despite the distance, there are stars that are so bright that shine through several centuries. Their message arrives even after they are gone. And it illuminates a different time, a different society, an environment that is absolutely alien to the source.

Energy is a universal medium of exchange. Time and distance will not stop it. There can be obstacles along the way, other celestial bodies that block the light, or clouds, but it will come to us eventually.

Like the (apparent) innocence and simplicity of childhood, the first atoms involved in the nuclear reactions within a star are the lightest possible ones (hydrogen). In the turmoil of the inner revolution, anarchy seems to be the norm.

In time, things get more complicated, atoms become heavier, and fusion becomes expensive. Iron is the last product of such reactions. Isn’t it ironic that the element that changed human societies is the one that signals the death of a star?

Somehow, art fuels actions, reflections, interactions that end up being dissolved in our daily lives. Maybe dopamine shots are this is all about. Maybe art, like light or oxygen, is just a product of chance that was fit to our survival needs.

Some may feel there is more to it. Some will not even think about it. Some will be thankful to this symbiotic relationship with entities that are beyond our comprehension. Like in the early days, we can even call them gods, recognizing they provide conditions for life to flourish. We may call them gurus, avatars or masters as a tribute to their creations, that provide conditions for life to flourish in our mind, where our spirit resides.

If you are struck by a storm of ideas while trapped inside a cold dark cave, start a fire. Use your own flesh, blood, and tears as fuel. It is a ritual self-sacrifice.

You will not know for sure how far your light can go. You might be worshipped as a god and become a myth in songs and epic writings. You might conquer the whole sky of somebody or of a multitude. You might become just a piece of a puzzle for lovers, children, or astronomers at night, pointing at the sky. You might be invisible because the eyes are not equipped to see it – but even then, you might be felt.

Artists are the antennas of our race. Artists are the stars of our sky.

Life depends on you. Become an artist for you and for others.

Broadcast. Shine.