It's taken me a great many years- probably, way too many- to tap into that feeling but, when i do I feel very deeply abut art, the very act of creating something out of the ether and making it or causing it to be my own, that is exhilarating, stimulating, even.
It's one of the few things in my world, this world that actually takes my breath away.
I mean, I can actually become breathless from the act itself-
Oh! And don't even get me started on conversing about art- specifically describing a particular painting that I may be looking at: here I get incredibly winded to the point of very nearly, needing oxygen.
Sometimes I think my chest can't take the excitement of what I'm looking at or being/standing near.
It can all be really overwhelming at time...
I consider art my river of life.
Like when you go swimming and, the water is everywhere, all around you, it gets up in your nose, it gets in your mouth, it even gets into you eyes, It's everywhere. It supports you, carries you for however long you want to be immersed in it's belly, it comforts you and gives you life.
This is what art is for me.
Life.
Without it, I am dead.
The other thing I love is the word.
Written or otherwise, I'll take them however I can get them.
I particularly love the ones put down into books.
Books.
They are some magical entity that opened me up to this world.
And, I hate to be a stone cold snob about this but, I mean books, not the other-worldly i-readers that have infiltrated my existence and curdled up my precious realm of the physical book in hand, the actual, tactile experience of reading a tome with ones eyes and skin.
Not these evil invaders for me.
I will always love the experience of reading a physical book, feeling it's binding, whether old and frayed or new and fresh, the feel of it's pages, the smell of it's history emanating from each finger pressed/greased page.
I love to hear words. I love the art/act of conversation. Sometimes I feel that there are so many words left unsaid in this world and that they will never be said, that I feel for them, that they should not have a place at our conversational table, that they may not, nor ever be heard.
For this my heart and soul weeps.
