There is something magical about the art of creation. It feels so exhilarating, so fulfilling. That’s how I feel when I write. Being in touch with my emotions, expressing my deepest feelings, my true feelings, is like nothing else that I have experienced before. But is it that true? Have I felt this before?
My memories started flooding my senses as I went back in time to a place that I have not forgotten. Tears start coming down as I realize that my soul was trying to tell me something many years ago. I tried to listen, but I was still a child and my dependent self couldn’t survive by itself.
When I was a young teenager I took art as one of my elective classes. There was not much thought about taking that step. There is not much thought about anything you do when you are in middle school. I was a very good student – all As, all my life through school. As every good student, your parents and teachers want you to focus on those hard math and science classes. You are supposed to set your sight into something bigger than art, something more serious, more respectable. So I never received encouragement to pursue the happiness of creation. I probably didn’t share with my parents or my teachers how I felt when I was doing the art projects.
I never talked about the ecstasy of forming clay with my hands until the shape of an abstract sculpture takes life. I could almost feel today my fingers working the wet clay and the smoothness of the process of creation when I let myself go. Those pieces still live in the abandoned shelves of my childhood bedroom – testaments of another path that could have been.
I did not share with anyone the joy of smelling the oil pigments while working on my masterpiece in the garage. The excitement of buying the tubes of colors and the pride of creating new members of the rainbow. The awe when a new color blooms – an infinite number of possibilities as the ochre mixed with white. A fresh shade created by my senses – an original never seen before. The masterpiece no longer exists in this physical world, but it will never leave my mind.
I had similar brushes with art in college, where I again decided to take an art class as an elective. This time was different though. It was an art appreciation class where we were asked to pick an artist and study the style. I selected a Spanish artist, El Greco. I still remember vividly the painting that I chose to analyze, the long bodies extending to the sky and the challenge of trying to figure out what lied behind the intent of the artist. As a writer now I realize that it is impossible to know exactly what an artist is thinking during the moment of creation.
“Art for an artist or a book for a writer are personal expressions that escape the conscious understanding of the viewer or reader; the viewer or reader can only attempt to decipher the emotions and feelings behind the creation.” — IS
But wait…there is one more memory that is awakening. There is another time – that innocent memory of my first performance when I was in primary school and I played the organ at the Christmas show. I was so nervous, but I felt so proud. I did something that was creative. It was my first meeting with the pleasure of owning the joy of art.
I didn’t know how to interpret the deep sentiments of my experiences. I don’t even know if I understood then the meaning of the emotions – the calmness, the peacefulness, the freedom of creation. I felt something – many things – but those feelings were foreign to me and I didn’t understand their true meaning. No one around me took the time to ask. Even if they have asked, I’m not sure what I would have said.
My soul attempted to rise from the depth of my being. My soul was shouting, but the noise around me was too loud. Those around me showed me a different path. I became a scientist. The voice of my soul was put aside in a corner of my brain where memories accumulated for a later time. I left my soul behind until now. Those memories today becoming significant as I again encounter the art of creation – the reconciliation with my soul.
My soul-searching journey uncovers an important piece of the puzzle. It is comforting to know that the pieces are starting to come together. The memories of the past evolve into who I am today. My soul is happy to know that I am listening now. I don’t need to depend on others to show me the path. I own my destiny and I can’t wait to continue discovering the mysteries ahead.
Everything is starting to make sense!
My Coqui Soul Project 