I write to kill things on paper. The songs I compose come from a pulsating place where my worries and frustrations cycle and cycle until I decide it is time for them to die. However, when I write a new composition, the paper neither self-destructs nor is burned in effigy. Ironically, these written words and notes become immortalized because songs are written to be performed. So each time I wrestle life and imbibe in this visceral high, I find relief that soothes but never satiates. At their best my songs remind me how I wrestled life and won, but at their worst they rip open wounds I’ve already licked clean. In the real world, away from grandiose metaphors, there is a simpler analysis: the biggest flaw of my music is that it is only a representation.
Just as the only thing better than art about love is love itself, the only thing better than art about healing is actual healing.
Like many artists, Candice created a work, The Piece, that came from an emotional place she wanted to distance herself from. Being that the work was colorful, evocative and quite good, she kept it and put it on display. “The Piece came down,” Candice writes, “because in short, I felt it was time to no longer be angry [or] be reminded that I had been angry for a long time.” But rather than put it in storage or the rubbish heap, Candice saw the value of sharing her healing with those who supported her while it was happening.
I am one of the fortunate recipients of a small section of this painting turned community art project. Indebted, I feel the need to give my gratitude: Thank you, Candice, for doing what my art can never do.
Brad Brubaker
Music: http://bradbrubaker.bandcamp.com
Ice cream: http://icecreamuscream.blogspot.com
