When do we call something art?
I guess I have an obsession with subjects are I have no profession. At least I know I’m not alone when it’s art. Last week I promised myself I write every fucking day. Guess what? Of course, I couldn’t. Then I change my “write-English-everyday” promise to a “write-something-you-learn” type. I’ve started to learn about directors, famous ones. I chose, he’s number one on the list I looked, Steven Speilberg. I can’t say I know him by heart, although I learned a few things. One of the articles about BFG tells about his childhood. He’s a lonely child with an enormous imagination. He terrifies by tremendous things, like the tree outside of his bedroom. Yet he watches the tree morph into darkness every night. His fear and imagination are bound up together. With this bond, he creates incredible films. The Terminal, Schindler’s List, and Saving Private Ryan are some movies I watched from him. I will continue to read about him, and I will choose another director to discover.
I’m a fan of depression movies, especially French ones. I don’t like when it ends happily. We can discuss what is the happy ending? When it ends, can we say it is happy? Incomplete, broken nevertheless it is beautiful. Am I the broken one with loves such things? When does something become art? What does happens when nobody sees it? What does happens when someone sees it but couldn’t understand the art? Does art need to be understood? Lots of questions. I’d imagine different when I write those in my mind. We can never express pure thoughts in our minds. Somehow, it is scary. And one of the problems of modern technology.
Yağmur, you should complete what you write. But I can’t. I don’t know how to finish it. When you finish, it has to be finished in your mind too. I guess my mind drinks lots of wine and imagines itself walking in Rome. Can I borrow someone else’s brain? When I was a teenager in high school, I have an ardour for psychic powers like reading mine. I didn’t pay attention to my classes instead I tried to read the mind who was in front of me. I changed a lot. I don’t “believe” if it is not scientific. Yet I imagine a lot. This should have been a finished paragraph, Jesus Christ. That’s the problem. Opens a door to exist but enters a new room. The thousands of doors.
I put a comma here,
to be continued.
