I was recently happy from a realisation that art, that self-expression is one of the defining qualities of being a human. We thought it was tools, but art, art is the thing that really separates us from other beasts, it’s our unique value proposition to the world, a sense of reflection and interpretation – a way to show ourselves and communicate our deepest feelings and ideas. It was a revelation whilst interviewing a scientist for a feature, who verified that a shell had a pattern on it drawn by homo erectus, ‘the missing link’, some 430,000 years ago in Java. We have always been artists.
It gave me a profound sense of relief, that we are hardwired for art, that it is our way to model, express, interpret, show and share. For the money makers, the inventors, the shakers and movers of industry and for the mighty rich, it’s a reminder that a child’s drawing really counts when it comes to being a human achiever.
And that’s why I have the compulsion to write, which I consider an art form. It’s in the blood, a need, a must, a driver of each day, a reason to swing the legs out of bed in the morning and plant those feet firmly on the floor in readiness for the unravelling sunlight. Projection, recording, storytelling, a way to make sense, a way of ordering chaos and documenting perception of reality. Every day that evaporates can still leave a mark where it died, it can leave a ghost behind in the world it leaves. I wake up every day and know I am going to write about something of the world and I am thankful I have it as my profession. I cannot imagine doing anything else for long, and I did dabble in other careers and jobs but no, they did not provide the fuel for my energy or the canvas for my mind. The saying ‘you don’t work a day if you do what you love’ is not entirely true but close enough. I’d change it to ‘if you do what you love, your work, and life, becomes meaningful. You, become meaningful.’
Writer for Hire 