A Muffled Introduction

opening words in lieu of opening up

Out of desperation for a deeper silence, I uttered my first words. My expressions, mute as they were, had begun to give too much away. Yes, involuntarily, but this is also to say more truthfully than I had wished. I needed control over the giving of any part of myself. No part of me could be allowed to work independently; it must always report back to the whole, a unified conception of self that only the most conscious aspect of my being had authority to impart. In short, I decided my path was in the arts.

To direct a light in one direction is also to shade another. I wanted to retain myself entirely, giving only a greater appearance of expression. Not to share the self, but the self-created self, which is to say something other than me, but of me. The man who only wants to share his fruit. The apple tree camouflaging the leaves, so that it appears to burn all red in the summer sun. And when the leaves finally do change colors, it is only to become more fruit-like in appearance.

I wanted to give and be the gift. Self-creating the self, arrival without precedent. An artist is always born in a deep shade, if truly left to their own devising devices.