creation: a sightless flight

"Landscape with the Fall of Icarus" by Pieter Bruegel

a few years ago, if you had asked me what i wanted to be when i grow up, i would say an astronaut. i sought to soar above this world and find haven in the stars — a remedy to the perpetual loneliness that seemingly consumed me. of course, i was 15, thus, ever the dramatic. but the sentiment remains the same.

albeit, i do not harbor as much curiosity for what lies in the solar system anymore — although, it is quite an interesting point of discussion — i find myself returning to this notion of a “haven” that i have searched for since my early teens. in every career i discover and each world i seek to build, there is a point of escapism that i tend to, as though it heals me.

my concept of escape has become more apparent in the eyes of creation. writing, painting, crafting a world where i fit in. that is not to say that i am perpetually unique and misunderstood (for that’d be a judgement of character that no one can abide by). however, we have all experienced a feeling of numbness to the world around us. sometimes, we can build a new world where the puzzle pieces fit a little more nicely than they usually would. other times, we are subjected to the outcast narrative that inflicts a terminal isolation in our souls.

i write and paint and craft what i see — an amalgamation of experiences that are strictly made for me. a castle on the hill, a dream world of fairy dust and lightning. there is pain and hurt and torment, but also love and hope and joy. and perhaps in escapism, that is what we’re searching for; the silver lining.

the things that make it worth it, unbeknownst to us. 

i imagine us (you and i and the rest) as icarus. now before you roll your eyes at another reference to this overly abused greek myth, i pray you bear with me. we are soaring for the sun, so bright we can barely see as we fall. but that is the thing, isn’t it? we must fall. no ladder goes that high, no river that deep, no woods without an end. for in escaping, there is always a return. a paradox leading us home. an ephemerality to our haven. we must land with caution, for the world has become a dangerous place in our absence. 

in reaching for the stars, i have landed on the moon. a craterous place riddled with the complexities of its nocturnal visibility. we create these havens to be our escape. but all that is lost shall one day be found.

and creation only exists in light of destruction. 

this begs the question: must we cease to create? surely not, i can affirm as much. beauty lives in ugly things, after all. and creation, as with all disciplines, must continue through destruction to form the foundations of its existence.

so create, i say. write and paint and craft and create what is so near to you. escape as you will, with the knowledge that you will always return. and do not resent that, if you will. 

the sightless flight is worth the fall.