the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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More of a silly crack theory than anything
A befuddling moment for me was when Squid Buddy was very adamant about not helping a fellow adventurer out. Perhaps it would've had more logical if Jaheira was not there, but. Jaheira was there, my squiddude.
Maybe Emps still had a hard time believing in the power of friendship???? But uh-
I like to think it was really because the Emperor heard one too many spooky BG2 stories about Minsc during their time in the hive.
don't take this comic seriously, all in light jest
Edit: Aight, my two brain cells are working again and realized I coulda just looked at the BG3 Wiki to sort out what's up with the statue thing, HA. Anyway, I still like the idea Emps somehow figured out statue Minsc was real Minsc before he poofed back to normal and got captured, whether the timeline is accurate enough for that to work is still confusing to me and- I'm not gonna think about it~
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Alrighty, welp, this is the closest I'm gonna get to having a Valentine's Day post this year, so... x3c
Some married dweebs for your soul~ ✨💜💚✨
(because it will never not amuse me the way Ven is apparently on the Exact right wavelength to just GetTM Boxman's questionable rizz somehow and I genuinely love that for the both of them lmao <3333)
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man okay so I used to play mechquest and dragonfable back in like, 2008 when I was a kid with very little patience to follow a storyline. coming back as an adult and finishing mechquest has absolutely slapped me silly with how deep and serious the story is in between all the absurdist humour. I have. so many emotions over the whole storyline, and especially so many thoughts about the unique form of tragedy that is The Reset.
You save the world but it's not the world anymore. You and your friends survive but you don't know each other anymore- have nothing left of the lives you fought to keep. You 'save' everything but it's still all gone. Everything you knew and loved, gone, and you don't even know what you've lost. You can't even keep the memory of what you had- and that's almost kinder compared to being one of the 3ish people who DO remember... and have to live around everyone else who doesn't, knowing their closest friends look at them and see a stranger, and that they may as well be because they aren't that person they remember being.
And to top it all off, that terrible sacrifice doesn't even end it. you're still left fighting impossible and devastating wars over and over. It's the tragedy of doomed time loops with extra layers of devastating all over the place. The GEARS University students being forced to become soldiers because they're all that's left to protect their homeworld. The horrors of the Shadowscythe virus taking over friends and loved ones you may be forced to put down to save yourself. The town of Falconreach burning over and over because no matter how hard they fight, it's never enough. The people like Sha'rae who sacrifice themselves to try and prevent tyrrany from seizing power, only for it to be utterly useless.
Anyway the brainrot is severe and especially dangerous since I'm coming into exam season and all my hyperfixated brain wants to do is chew on glass about these games.
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