To whom it may concern

letterI’m twenty four years old, and in that short time frame I’ve learned that life is rarely fair. But it goes on. Whether we like it or not, life goes on.

Maybe we live in a dangerous world. Maybe this world has always been “unsafe” for those who weren’t sure what to do.

And I’d like to tell you there’s nothing to be afraid of, I’d like to tell you that failures build a man, that every fall is also a step forward. That what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…

But the truth is that, most times, what doesn’t kill you makes you wish it did. Continue reading

Sacrifice

easterWhen I was a kid there were two days I waited eagerly for: Christmas, when it was also my birthday, and I would receive presents and stuff, and Easter.

When I was a kid, Easter to me was silence. It seemed that way, as if the whole world was looking back on something. We were all contemplating a better world, but not with the same hope one holds on the first of January. It was something different, more primordial than that. It was not a promise we made to ourselves, but a promise someone else had made to us. Continue reading

Art and violence

Could art influence people in such a way that they start shooting each other? Do we absorb the violence we see in movies and video games? Do we try to apply what we see in the real world?

Interesting.

It really is fascinating to see that some people believe that we can’t really discern what’s real from what’s not, that we don’t understand that the general convention of art is that it’s not true. As close as art and the real life are, we know art only mimics real life. And it does show for a reason. To transmit a message. Continue reading

You’ve got to sell your heart

heartIn 1938 aspiring author Frances Turnbull sent a copy of one of her stories to Francisc Scott Fitzgerald. In the feedback he offers her there’s one great piece of advice: “You’ve got to sell your heart, your strongest reactions, not the little minor things that only touch you lightly, the little experiences that you might tell at dinner. This is especially true when you begin to write, when you have not yet developed the tricks of interesting people on paper, when you have none of the technique which it takes time to learn. When, in short, you have only your emotions to sell.”

You can read the rest of the letter here. It’s really worth the time, and it’s the kind of advice writers give only to closest friends. It’s not something you can tell anyone about, because most people will think you’re crazy.

Now, about selling your heart… Continue reading

Honesty

Everything I write acts as a sort of personal metaphor; I try to add a bit of myself in each and everyone of my stories. It’s probably the easiest way to add realism to a fictional world. And furthermore, I’m the one person I know best in the world, so to speak.

But it wasn’t always like that. Continue reading

Five painters

paintersYou’ve got five painters in the same room, painting the same object. If all five of them employ the same style (or manner) when painting that object, almost always at least four of them are doing something wrong.

At least two of them would much rather paint something else, and of those two at least one would use the same style and technique as before.

Also, at least one of them would like to paint the same object, but in a different style.

What I’m trying to say is that there are only two requirements when making art: one is to be passionate about your subject matter, and the other one is to do it exactly how you feel like it. Continue reading

Nostalgia

nostalgiaI realized something today about the way certain works of art make me feel, something I couldn’t exactly describe until now.

So, here goes nothing: Certain works of art make us feel nostalgic about things we never even experienced.

For a few minutes or hours or whatever, we find ourselves submerged in a world that could never really existed, and at the same time we feel that if it were to exist, it would still be a world we’d never belong to.

It’s a strange feeling, to read about experiences you never experienced, to see things you never saw in person, to hear what your ears never heard, and feel nostalgic about them. It’s like a deja vu, actually.

I believe the biggest difference between artists and “normal” people is the artists’ ability to describe what everyone feels, and sometimes, if they’re lucky, to describe something no one else has felt before.

Maybe this is one of the great things about art: making the impossible not possible, but plausible. To give us hope that the life we think we deserve can exist.