This self-reflective discourse delves into the challenges of creative expression when one feels devoid of inspiration. Through poetic verses, the author contemplates the balance between form and meaning, the impact of audience reception, and the subjective nature of art. It emphasizes the importance of taking creative risks, regardless of commercial success, and highlights the significance of personal connection and shared experiences in artistic expression. This introspective journey invites readers to ponder their own struggles and find solace in the universality of the creative process.
I Am Artist
A restless mind makes perfect rhymes
That’s what one might just guess
And normally it works like that
But I am still a mess
What I make up all in my head
Makes sense to some extent
But sounds constructed, too built up
No wonder, I can just pretend
I‘m lacking input from outside
No memories made (in all that time)
I am thinking, method acting
And ballad quatrain, sure, I can rhyme
I‘m lacking input from outside
No memories made (in all that time)
I am thinking, method acting
And ballad quatrain, sure, I can rhyme
But that’s the form and not the art
It has no deeper meaning
They all will roll eyes, fair enough
I am not good at seeming
The truth is, I don’t need to share
What goes on in this mind
About deep meaning no one cares
Who is to value blind
That’s what the one part wants to say
And I’m not gonna tame it
But then remember those who see
The other part now, mind split
The metrum really got me
I can feel the flow
Nothing to sell, just an idea
And if you want to know
Where this is leading (what’s the point)
I got you on the hook
And this, my friends, is poetry
Just take a closer look
It moves like a boat through stormy sea
Feels like we could sing it
It catches attention (but also for what)
Seductive, not explicit
What happens if you change the form
Rip it all apart
What remains is broken frames
And underneath a heart
Talking about silence
Rhymes with no sense
Could do it or let it
These thoughts are intense
And maybe they‘re not even mine
Nobody’s gonna know
A thief of thoughts, a parasite
Maybe it’s just a show
And like with every magic trick
I can flip and change it quick
Not every artist wants to entertain. Not every entertainer is creative. Commercially successful is, who either can do both, or has a team to step in. Success in general doesn’t have to be the goal of creation, though. A painting can be successful, even if it wasn’t made for sales and never leaves the atelier, it depends on the artist’s motivation. That in turn should never matter to the recipient. Only the creator defines what’s „beautiful“, but without feedback, the artist can never evolve beyond itself. Other options don’t matter, but they matter. The artist mustn’t let the reaction of others feed its ego in a way that made it starve if it wouldn’t get that no more. Everybody can do anything. You are not a judge. It’s a cold world, but a world in which we want to create, is one that is not lost, I guess.
I rhymed the words without a point
I dropped the facts just frame-less
The one feels inspired and revitalized
the other one screams „say less“
What matters is to take the risk
You don’t know who you touch
These days one person is unfazed
To another it means much
Because my struggle is just real
I don’t know what to tell you
But maybe I am meaning enough
And someone thinks: me, too
