Artistry
I've always wanted to be an artist. I wanted to be able to create, to paint pictures, take pictures, to draw something, anything really.
My lines would always bend off and create grotesque formations that would make any drawing look as if it were either done in five minutes or by the hands of an elementary school child.
I'm not a illustrator.
After coming to the realization that drawing wasn't my forte, nor would it ever be I remember taking up a brush. Colors always fascinated me and maybe the bristles of a brush would be more forgiving than the pens and markers of my past.
The paintings that I created were hardly worthy of the designation. I had created splotches that hardly represented anything worth looking at. Even the most eloquent arguments could find very little meaning in what I had created.
I'm not a painter.
The delicate and intricate work required of painting and drawing were too much for my fingers and hands. So, I figured the world of photography would be a wise alternative.
Just point and shoot, right?
Of course, if you've ever picked up a camera you know better. Taking pictures is so much more than pointing and shooting. In a day and age where there a million different photo editing software, the task has become even more difficult.
Colors and composition. Angles and light. Depth of field. Rule of thirds.
I'm not a photographer.
So, where does that leave me?
It leaves me here; writing once in a long while trying my hardest to be some kind of artist, to evoke an emotional response to the things that I can, with some skill, utilize.
I write.
I'm not a "writer" by trade. I'm a computer tech, not that I will be forever or particularly hate it. But I write.
I write hoping that someone, somewhere will appreciate the order in which I've put the words and that maybe, just maybe you'll enjoy what I've written.
I try my hardest to paint pictures with my words. I want to draw contrasts and subtly shade in the details.
i remember the first time i had crab. well, not the first time, but the really the only time. i never understood the appeal.
crab had always tasted fishy to me, like the garbage rotting on the beach kind of fishy. it tasted like that smelled, just disgusting.
this place was supposed to be different. so i ordered it.
traditionally, i believe, you consume crab with some sort of melted butter, but there was none of that served here. just a large crab looking up at me smelling of a handful of different asian spices.
the aroma was immediately intoxicating, but didn't deter me from my initial plight of bad crab taste in my mind.
i had seen friends and family crack up legs enough times to be able to re-create it. the break was sent another scent gently wafting up in to my senses. it was sweet and light. this was new.
the first pieces of crab lacked the many herbs and spices that could be found on the shell. were these smells just for show? the pristine white meat of the crab touched my tongue for the first time.
magic.
a wonderful mix of sweet, light crab meat danced upon my taste buds saying, "this is what God made me to be."
every aroma somehow came through and then the, once thought absent, butter came through. where had it been hiding?
immediately i broke more and more legs. trying my best, i cracked claw and leg alike trying to pull out more and more meat that resembled my first pristine crack.
no words were spoken.
a groan here. i sigh there.
but no words.
that's when food hits you. when there are no words, just feelings of ecstasy. when you know you've found something right.
it doesn't happen often, but when it does you know.
That's how I art now. With words.
If you read this in its entirety you just read two posts in one.
Thanks
