At various stages I start pulling things together for a "feel". Out there, there are many wonderful artists who have inspired us.
Inspiration is what drives us all when we make, or do something. Too much time has passed in our evolution to really, no really lay claim to something. It's been thought of, done, or even set aside for possible re-visitation by someone, somewhere before.
Everything IS our "take" on what we see, feel, and hear. The embodiment of art can
take on many forms, but in general:
Noun: art; plural noun: arts; plural noun: the arts.
1. The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or
sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.
"the art of the Renaissance"
Synonyms: fine art, artwork
"he studied art"
Works produced by human creative skill and imagination.
"his collection of modern art"
Synonyms: fine art, artwork
"he studied art"
creative activity resulting in the production of paintings, drawings, or sculpture.
"she's good at art"
2. The various branches of creative activity, such as painting, music, literature, and dance.
"the visual arts"
The thing is, from time to time you will encounter someone, who made something that feels that nobody should present an image, a thought, or a theme, a thing, a recipe or even a sound "belonging" to them without some kind of monetary compensation.
Harsh? On the surface perhaps. Before you crucify me, approach the table with honesty and be reminded:
"Absolutes are a fickle thing, and deadly when provoked, unless you have balls of previously unknown composition and hardness."
My balls have yet to be explained scientifically, or spiritually.
Think about it. A painter owes the realization of his masterpiece to the brushmaker, the alchemist, those who made every mistake prior to them, and even his own parents for getting it on 9 months before they were born. If we monetize everything and attempt to invoke some (funny word here) legal tripe into it, almost every time we will find ourselves the hypocrite, because we cant enforce total ownership of anything really. So unless you are paying royalties to everyone involved in "your" creation, you really don't have a logical foot to stand on, let alone be viewed as anything but said hypocrite.
What it comes down to people, is we really dont own anything, and never will. We can "almost" own something by enforcing exclusive rights to it but I have to ask then: Why the fuck did you do it in the first place? If monetary gain is the sole drive, be up front about it at least but expect its essence to be diminished, and accept being a hypocrite because now we have scientific method to determine bloodlines; last I looked I haven't seen any of your profits go towards seeking out the descendants of the creator of the fucking hammer or camera, sewing needle or paint brush you use and compensating them accordingly. Be happy that you inspired someone and its you that should be honored at the chance to be appreciated. So, again, I lovingly say, fuck you.
I do things hoping to make a living at them. I also realize, humbly, that things I do wouldn't be possible without someone else coming before me in some way, shape, or form. I do things, make things for my enjoyment, and others. It's great when it's appreciated and yes, even theft has a place in the appreciation field. It's happened and will continue to do so whether I stomp my unfounded feet or embrace it for what it really is:
A failure to understand we are all bound together by natural laws that no slimy lawyer, obese politician or self appointed sheriff of the moral land can truly circumvent without being seen for the cosmic dumb ass they really are. They're simply the cousin with issues. Disregard them, but know that somewhere, some time they will slip a hand under natural law's shirt to cop a feel because it's what they do. They just try to hide it when the situation suits them.
If you made it this far, there's still hope for you.
A homeless street performer plays violin every day outside the apartment of a small girl who is afraid of going to sleep at night. People pass by and throw coins in a dingy cup. As she grew up it was this man's musical creations that, in remembering them allowed her to eventually overcome the fear.
After many years she stopped by and noticed he wasn't out there anymore. Asking around she found that he had passed away. The person she asked looked at her and said: "You look familiar, have you been here before?" She responded with explanation that she used to live in the apartment behind where he used to play every day.
"I have something for you." She was handed a dingy cup that contained a few coins and a folded note.
"He used to talk about this little girl that sat by that window there, he said it was why he came every day, said her mother told him she had trouble sleeping and his music got her though it." "You know he was asked many times to work at the theater, and even wrote a number of musicals they used there." "I always asked him why he didn't take them up on it and he always said it was about the appreciation and that little girl's smile that inspired him." "The few coins he made every day were enough to be comfortable but the confirmation that his music touched someone so was really the payment." "You cant buy that, you cant sell that, he said."
She took out the note, unfolded it and read it.
Sir: "I wanted to thank you for the music you play, it's what my daughter lives for and it helps her sleep at night. You probably see her in the window and it's because of you that she sits there. Thank you so much, if theres anything we can do let us know, we don't have much but will none the less."
Beneath those words were written something else, apparently by a different hand.
"I grew up in that apartment and sat by that same window. When my wife passed away I left and couldnt sleep. I came back every day to play because my wife used to look at me with those same eyes, and that little girl's smile reminded me so much of her. They want me to stop playing there and work at the theatre, but nobody understands the real reason I do what I do. No money could ever replace my wife, or that little girl's smile."
"Please give her this key and tell her whats inside is for her."
Underneath the coins lay a small safe deposit box key. The box contained a violin, some sheet music and a few cassette tapes with his work on them. She gave these to her son and he's playing violin now. Next week, his concert benefits the homeless.
See the relationship here, and how we can either benefit as humans, as spirits, as one, by embracing the true meaning of expression, or simply "Only do it for the money."? Sorry to put those lawyers out of business, skinny those politicians up some, and bitchslap those moral sheriff's off their pedestals.
Not really. I rather enjoy that part.