This is My Psychosis
I cannot begin to fathom how I can explain the feelings that I felt when reading this post. I am in awe… As I read this post, I felt as If it was talking about me…about some things that I feel but can’t really explain.
I am an artist – I don’t know why or how I believe that I am but I know and feel like I am.
I consider myself an amateur writer but it doesn’t matter because writing makes me happy. I come home to writing and I find my place in it.
Thank you Christian Mihai for this very cathartic piece… It is only fitting that I share this!
I feel blessed to have read such great prose…
There’s a part of me that believes art to be a primordial aspect of the human condition. Art inspires, art is a way of achieving greatness, of building a better world. Art turns strangers into friends. Without art, without artists, we wouldn’t be ourselves anymore.
Because I feel that within the confines of any artistic form of expression, we allow ourselves to wear a mask. The artist hides behind words or paints or brushes. And he feels safe. He can be anyone he wants to be. His freedom is limitless. And he plays this bizarre game of hide and seek with the rest of the world, constantly changing the rules, until he decides – maybe on a mere subconscious level – to be himself, thinking that people will never find out.
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