I'm in a strange, reflective mood today - probably due to this current bout of insomnia - and have been thinking about how much art has brought to my life.
Books, films, paintings, sculptures, music, etc...without these things, I couldn't have made it this far. From a young, lonely northeastern kid sitting in a tiny council house bedroom reading the piles of books borrowed from the library or staying up late to watch the Hammer horrors or leafing through a book of Van Gogh prints, to a man who writes stories and sometimes gets them published and who desperately wants his son to value these things.
These precious things that saved him, and damaged him; these terrible and beautiful things that unmade him and then reformed him.
Art. It's an amazing, essential thing. In all its forms. Life without art would not be a life at all - not to me, anyway.
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