It’s a quarter to seven in the morning, and my alarm went off at six. I’m writing because I was reading a post and thinking about the past few months. In the past few months I’ve moved and ended up coming to terms with politics in America and for the first time in my life actually tried to avoid them. I don’t know why, but they are just so consuming and terrifying that I have to hide. I know that later on I will come out of my hole because at some point I have to, otherwise, why am I a citizen? Aside from all that, I am also recovering from being sick, as you read in my last post.
Being sick took up half of my week-long break but I’m well again. I went out to the city with my dad and my friends a few days ago, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and spent yesterday wandering almost aimlessly around the fields where I live, reading and brewing myself nettle leaf tea. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about all of the journals that I have accumulated over my life. I got my first one the day I turned eight. For the six years since, I have drawers and drawers of half-empty notebooks and journals all for slightly different purposes, but the overall purpose would be to fill them up with writing so that I could look back on the writing later, because I love to record and document, and make beauty out of my documentations by exploring the craft of writing.
One of the activities that my friends, S and Eleanor engaged in was taking a trip to the art museum. Eleanor did not enjoy this activity much at all. She is a more science-oriented person than an art-oriented person. What I really enjoyed, (and I believe S did too) was seeing let the art sort of soak in and tell something. Wondering in the craft of an artist from a long time ago, and letting their story reach out to my own world, no matter how old the art was, is essential to an artist of any kind. I hoped it helped Eleanor, because she writes. Creates. We film things together. But the way that the silent observation of art curates your soul a step further into a wiser creative state was really what I enjoyed. That doesn’t necessarily mean an art museum either. It could be a history museum, a science museum.
I believe it was two years ago, me, Eleanor and Eleanor’s family went to a history museum. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and I can’t really tell you why. Seeing the artifacts that had been touched by people of long ago, not only toughed but artifacts that had been integrated into their lives, was now on display for me. I soaked it in and took pictures and notes (hence my hunger to document) and it was blissful.
Feel free to share your experiences down below, I’d love to hear from you!