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Dear friend,
First of all, I must say that I’ve been meaning to write to you for a long time. For years, actually. This letter has been in the making since I was a teenager. I'm about to enter the second quarter of my century, and I thought if I didn't do it now, I’d never do it.
I've been feeling very nostalgic lately. Every day I reflect on my life, especially on my art. You know I like to write. And I think about why I write. What is it that moves people to do anything?
I think it's love and pain. I believe that humans were made to escape pain and protect love. I say “protect” and not “seek” because love is inherent in human beings, contrary to what cynics might say. To be alive is to flow with love, and as proof of this I can show you the history of humanity: eras of pure misery, suffering that transcends generations, the worst of the worst. Would we consciously choose to continue an existence plagued with endless evils, if there wasn't a reason to do so? Don't you think we would have decided a long time ago to put an end to all evil forever, that is, to voluntarily extinguish ourselves, if we thought that was the most rational thing to do? What makes our small and insignificant species not choose to self-destruct is what makes it not so insignificant. It’s love for life that moves the world, my friend. It may be subconscious, it disguises itself, it changes shape, but it's there.
But when it comes to art, it doesn't matter what moves the world; an artist is an individual, and the human mind must be analyzed in terms of its uniqueness. What can move an artist who has never loved, or who has never felt pain? Where can his magic… his inspiration come from? Where is an artist's love born?
Art is sensory. We can see it in paintings, movies and novels; we smell and taste it in culinary works; we can touch it on the fabric of a dress; we hear it in orchestras and indie rock bands. But its inspiration is not sensory. It isn’t intellectual either: it doesn’t come from the body or the mind.
There's a book called The War of Art (by Steven Pressfield) that states that all callings of the soul, that is, vocations, come from a single source, a single metaphysical force, separated, but united to us, that indicates the path we must follow to reach happiness. There is a force that wants us to accomplish our mission. They are the angels, the muses, the “inspiration”, whatever you want to call it. When we do what we came to do in the world, we are accompanied by this force.
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