Art has different shapes. It comes in numerous forms, created by diverse hands, conjuring various emotions, but all art can bring connection. The more artists I meet, the more I recognize they are often walking contradictions, myself included. We want our work to gain recognition, but we don't always want to be in the center of it ourselves. We want our names scrawled across the world but would be content with our faces being unknown. We want to shine brightly, but at what cost.
Artists are often called stars.
"One day, you will be a star."
"You are a star."
"What a star you are!"
The intention is to compliment. To express that the individual is everything a star can be; bright, beautiful, ethereal, hovering above the rest like a ray of hope, dreams, and inspiration. It is supposed to be praise, but I can't keep from wondering how many artists suffer from becoming a star. Stars filling the night sky are brightly shining because they are contorting into themselves. They are filled with hot temperatures and unbearable pressure, releasing their energy against gravity, trying to expand but never succeeding. Stars shine and burn until they are a supernova, becoming such a massive presence in such a limited space that they explode.
Artists are often called stars. They began as a twinkle until hundreds to millions of eyes decided to pay attention. Then they shine and burn their fuel now that they've been deemed ethereal despite feeling earthly. They try to expand in confined space until one day they grow weary, some with regret and others with pride, the fuel runs out, and you no longer find the same star.
A vicious cycle repeats with a new soul.