Member-only story
Those Who Sing
I’ve never made a career out of anything, you know, not even literature. I started with nothing, except some kind of passion, a driving desire… I started writing when I was six or seven years old, but I also had a multitude of other semi-talented people in me: I wanted to dance, play the piano, sing, draw… Most of the time we depended on our own resources: our own music and our own books. The houses were full of books to be read and we read them.
Nothing is pointless, and nothing is meaningless if the artist will face it. And it’s his business to face it. He hasn’t got the right to sidestep it like that. Human life itself may be almost pure chaos, but the work of the artist — the only thing he’s good for — is to take these handfuls of confusion and disparate things, things that seem to be irreconcilable, and put them together in a frame to give them some kind of shape and meaning… We understand very little of what is happening to us at any given moment. But by remembering, comparing, waiting to know the consequences, we can sometimes see what an event really meant, what it was trying to teach us.
— Katherine Anne Porter
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Choose to be around those who sing, tell stories, enjoy life and have joy in their eyes. Because joy is contagious and always manages to find a solution where logic is limited to providing an explanation for the error.
