The romanticization, the magic, the overwhelming beauty of our own imagination. Infinity at our fingertips. It’s what separates us from the animals. The material world alone is boring, stale, objective. But our own slice of infinity allows us to go further than what we see. We’re able to create worlds of our own making and make them reality. The crossroads of the boundless, and the bounded. The infinite and the finite. A world which man flourishes and wonders.
When a child plays with his toy cars, does he not imagine the cheers of the crowds, the yells of the stadium, the heat of the track. When a child plays tag does he not imagine super speed or magic lands.
This world that we’ve created, the real world, we’ve designed it to transport us somewhere else.
Humans always talk about the experience. Artists crave it. They detest consistency, they hate the pale colorlessness of efficiency, they hunger for something new. It’s begging to get out.
They itch for that constant re-birth in their own souls because the world isn’t big enough for it. Repressed it becomes, depressed they become.
What is it that lies in your mind. I’m sure it’s not just money, tools to aid to survival. Surely you’re not an animal of the world. But Man created to create. Art to art.
Loved to love.
Before God.
Before each other.
Before ourselves.
Craving to be let loose.
