Nick Mwaluko — Literarische Gastbeiträge

Inching Towards Infinity, I Make Art

By Nick Hadikwa Mwaluko

The demons surface ferocious, devouring what little room is left outside the roar inside my little head. I once thought silence is music perfected,

but now believe it is

fear,

pain,

agony

screaming Order through the creative process without which one only sees oneself in the world as opposed to imagining a world with the real them in it.

I make Art.

Because maybe the function of Art is not to mirror an imagined identity but to deliver that identity to safety,    security,    to a space free from the demons that drive one to create in the first place.

Or maybe the function of Art is the dysfunction of functioning;

living with the inability of living with the inability until a miracle is born from  disaster.

Or maybe the function of Art is to disrupt all silence with the music of our lives—pain, fear, frustration, confusion, loss, agony.

Most importantly, Art is consumed with delivering us past death. YES, Art is the invention that robs death of all power.

Like an angelic visitation,

Like a newborn baby is prayer,

Like souls resurrected

the work of a true Artist

Is.

Or not.

Copyright, Nick Mwaluko 2016

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