Uncharted Thoughts.

‘In Vincent’s time critics said that his style was characterized by heavy and sloppy brushstrokes that were crude. They were concerned with realistic paintings rather than exaggerated paintings. Van Gogh was highly unappreciated during his life, but he paved a new way for art’. – Vincent Van Gogh: The Costly Gift. https://34163483.weebly.com/

Heed the warnings of wiser men, but ignore those that speak of doubt.

To ignore criticism is unwise. Criticism provides a way of improving, of moving forwards and mastering crafts. It is essential in the building blocks of perfection, if such a thing really exists. But, listen only to the critiques of those that know the most in your work, for fools gabber and gib at all skills yet know none themselves.

Alas, listening to criticism and learning from it are completely separate to enforcing and warping originality into the box of conformity.

To listen to a pianist that is a master in their craft is vital. To absorb their knowledge on the keys and notes of a piano is a wisdom no one should surpass. Yet, your art its your own, as is the vision of it.

A nay sayer will tell you that the work of art you make is worthy of nothing. A critique of little knowledge will point out defaults in your work. The wise will ask the intension, before showing you a alternative path. You, should only make the choice of the art you have envisioned.

Doubt will bury a man, before he is dead.

Doubt is a disease spread by the vocal vibrations of those that wish for you not to succeed. Be cautious to vaccinate yourself against their winds, for it will bury you before you die.

If I had a pound coin for the amount of projects I have started over the years and not finished I would be able to start a new expensive project that doubt could kill as quickly as the cheap ones.

Books, plays, poems, businesses, lessons and documentaries have all been thrown into the mass grave in the waisted bin of my mind. Chiselled into the fleshy arch above the grave, signed in blood blistering red are the words ‘Could have been’ 1995 – Present.

All tossed into the grave by the killer disease spread from the mouths of those that know little, but express much concern.

“I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams”. – H. G. Yeats.

We do not walk here again…

It is in my belief that we will never again walk on this earth once our time comes. That the footprints we leave behind in mud and sand will fade, and with that we will be gone. Be there a plain of existence after this one remains to me unlikely, yet also irrelevant. For the art we create, the poems we write or the books we scribe will die with us.

Unless… you try. There is a chance, one larger than we are led to believe by those that tread on dreams, That we can outlive our own existence through the dreams we possess. Making those a reality is the only chance we have of living forever.

Vincent never knew that his art would be some of the wonders of the world. He died probably thinking his works would join him in a pit somewhere in months to come. Now, they sit in Museums across the globe, viewed by eyes of every race, religion and tongue.

Care not for those that seek to kill a dream, for their dreams are already dead.