Dima

Power of Art

            The last stroke of her brush pushed against the canvas, she stepped back and examined her masterpiece, the eloquent patterns painted so vividly, an image created from the depths of her mind now alive-alive as beautiful chaos. Wild colors of blue, green, purple, yellow and orange now occupy the once empty white space, her imagination painted onto that canvas, part of her soul, saved onto the colorful peaks and dips of her image, as a clear depiction of her mentality. Art was no doubt what she created that day, for she allowed her own mind to wander and create something magical.

            The ink of his black pen finished, as soon as he started, he completed writing his first novel-a novel that he hoped would take the public back to the Roaring Twenties and enrich humanity with a sense of history and luxury. He longed to achieve stardom for his art, wanting to raise awareness for all the underground artists waiting for someone to make it big so the public could appreciate the arts of language and literature. He dreamed of writing a novel close to that of the story of Gatsby, but could only get so far, for he remained further away from his green light than Gatsby had been.

            As the orchestra finished their performance the crowd longed to hear the sounds of the sweet stringed instruments, the violin, the cello, the viola, the sounds of the subtle percussion and pit, the roar produced by the trumpets and saxophone, and the delicate riffs of the piano. The sound of music causing an emotional response from the audience, some to turn and shiver with chills as goose-bumps crept along the hairs of their skin. The art in which the orchestra produced catalyzed a series of responses from its viewers, the players stood up for their final curtain call, to smile at one another, for they all knew they poured their heart and soul onto that stage.

            I was not the painter, the writer, or the musician. I was Dima, plain and talentless Dima. I was a mediocre piano player and a near tone-deaf singer and nothing more. My only form of self-expression was my ability to communicate with others through debate, but that was not enough to satisfy my wants, I devoted multiple years of my life trying to figure out what my talent outside of school was. I went to numerous art and music schools only to get bored quickly and quit. Wanting to have something I could call my passion consumed every second of my existence, I just wanted to have the validation that I could posses a skill that would differentiate me from a fellow human being. One day my family adopted a DSLR Cannon T3i Rebel Camera, and after receiving a few pointers from my older sister on how to use the equipment, I taught myself to use the power that the camera bestowed upon me to make images that would move others and myself. I found my medium because I never gave up on trying to find something that was mine, some form of art that would be unique to me. My desire to create art pushed me out of my comfort zone, and forced me to chase my visions-my art-my photos.

            Art is the only thing that makes the seven billion people who are living on this planet we call home different. It allows individuals to express their beliefs in a form that is universally understood, it is a passion, it is a way of life, it is a skill, which requires diverse and practiced technique. The ultimate result of art is satisfaction, for “art enables us to find ourselves and loose ourselves at the same time.” It is the way to cleanse oneself of the terrible events of the day and start fresh. Once adopted it is the only thing that stays constant throughout years and years.  To have that much power over individuals inspires creativity and drives change, it is through art humanity evolves. Art has become my obsession, I think about all the things and people I would want to photograph if time was not of the essence.  But, I know that if you need me you will find me behind the ephemeral lens.

Sources:

http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/art