FINDING ARTSY IN STRANGE PLACES : (Scarves, Thoughts, Myself, amongst other things).

“Giving an advice is a very good thing but nothing compares to living that advice.”

 

The above quote is not one dropped by a magnificent historical figure nor an awe-inspiring twenty-first century role model, it’s just a mantra I have decided I should keep as close as possible. I had written an article a little over a month and a half ago about writing and while going through it recently, I wondered if I’d indeed written it. As it is, I procured possible methods/views which was aimed at debunking a few notions behind writing and God help me because I hadn’t written any tangible piece in that space of time.

Okay, in my defense, there was examination (deets are fuel for another imminent flame of discussion) and project work and life, to devote my time to but nevertheless since I consider writing my medium of expression, I feel somewhat guilty.

 

So I had closed off one of my true ‘medium of outlet’ (others include occasional soliloquizing and reading) and as was expected, I had a lot, lot, of things packed up inside. I do not intend to romanticize the notion that a typical youth should have one mental illness or emotional instability, hence, why I have to expatiate what I mean by ‘lot of things packed up inside.’ Reality has upped it’s game with me of recent. It had come up with new puzzles, mazes and riddles designed to task my being but seeing as I carry around a paranoid mind, Reality is doing more ‘over-stimulation’ than ‘tasking.’

 

Questions such as ‘who am I in this world?’ ‘How do I correctly utilize the space I occupy?’ ‘Will I disappoint myself and my mini-gods on earth (family)?’ ‘What will I do when it is time to do what is expected?’, amongst others (especially the first three questions), continually surface and the realization that I couldn’t provide definite answers, overwhelms and frightens me.

 

I might have concluded that it was simply typical at my stage in life but logic as we know it is cut off from emotion. Add these paranoia-induced questions to the physical and emotional stress of being exposed to actual laboratory dealings, the need to complete a to-be-read list, the unnecessary daily socialization that is socially expected, constant collision with our very noisy world and you will have a me, walking around with a head full of ‘things’.

 

This seems like excessive exaggeration but you know how your wardrobe/closet would refuse to close properly (or close at all) when it’s filled with too much stuff (usually stuff you don’t need)? Well, imagine your wardrobe with four functional limbs and a face like mine.

 

Anyway, the need to remove the clutter prompted a one-day sickness and by extension, got me the week off. I decided to utilize the week to actually remove the clutter; to go some place and do the things that would draw me out of my growing studently sloth.

 

My quest for a trigger brought me to a place where I met one individual.

 

Arranging meetings with social media acquaintances is becoming a norm and this is a great, especially for a country like Nigeria, where superstitions cause its people to pick apart the simplest gesture from a stranger.

 

The individual I met is one of many social media acquaintances and she did a diligent job of debunking the superstitions. Embracing a virtual stranger on a first meeting is a concept I wasn’t familiar with till I met her. She had hugged me with the ferocity I would have hugged a long lost friend. This gesture tugged at my heart, I imagine a clutter disappear.

 

She did most of the talking and I, the listening. Contrary to when I listened to others speak, she didn’t appear to be monopolizing our conversation. I didn’t think her ‘talkative’. I felt her unknowingly relieving me of that burden of socializing. Our conversation moved through several topics and I enjoyed listening and proffering response when I felt like, rather than when I felt obliged to. She spoke about her art and her life and I could tell the two were intricately woven. I felt my own definition of art change. I didn’t wonder about writing/nature being arts; I knew them to be ‘art’.

A friend once told me that even when a human debates the existence of God, they should marvel at the superior art He has created, even if it’s once in their existence.

So I marveled at the art of speaking and meeting with people I have forged a rapport with via the internet and I allowed myself to soak up that art. Admiring the art pieces that man can create with stones, woods, paper and paint, was a delicious bonus. As was expected, I felt myself lose the clutters as perfectly as a dirty foam would when you squeeze out fresh water and dirt.

I came out of this experience a little lighter, a lot learned. While I didn’t necessarily find answers to my innumerable questions, I felt myself a step closer to those answers. I had set out without direction, with the one aim of ridding my mind of clutter and I achieved my aim, along with other discoveries.

I found art in a girl with brown glasses and a headscarf ( believe it or not, that is rare in my surrounding).

I found it in my inability to put my innumerable thoughts into words. I found it in the eagerness of my new friend (the one she showed with her embrace).

I found it in stones, clay, paper, bamboo, and paint.

I found it in the ease with which others open up to me, and in my own hesitation to return the gesture. It took hold of me and gently nudged me.

I found nascent art within myself.