A Fraction of an Inch.

"It's alright to cry,
Even my dad does sometimes. So don't wipe your eyes,
Tears remind you you're alive."

-Ed Sheeran

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When you spend too much time in the water, your hands become kin to raisins. It's a fact most people know and if they don't it is easily tested. Steep yourself in something long enough, and it will shrivel what used to be. It will force you to shed the layers and reveal something new. Chances are when you finally get out of the water - your hands will be sore. You might question your love for water. You might tell yourself you're lucky you didn't stay in longer. You might shy away from the water.

This is what it is to be an artist. Maybe not every artist ever, but perhaps the bookish kind. The artist loves to be doused in paint, tattooed with words, and singing through conversations. They live in their art, it's not a hobby, or a past time - but a constant striving to improve their art and their heart. Yet, sometimes they become so steeped in words, music, etc. that they struggle to find the source of originality. They find themselves in a never ending loop of borrowed words and rifts - it's a painful cycle that feels like your heart is slowly rusting.

After being submersed so happily in art, the artist forgets that they must not only consume, but create. The heart and mind begin to wrinkle from all the beauty they have soaked up. The artist then begins to fear that they will never say something new. They are stuck in a state of raisin-like hands, and they don't want to get back in the water.

This is the moment where the artist chooses the rest of their life. They can either produce, create, sing,  or write words that only cause hands to ripple. They can work hard enough to fold the mind, but not leave a fixed mark. Or they can steep until the discomfort and hard work reveal something most radiant. They can cause the hands to crack.

Many artists get lost. It's when a band we loved sells out - they choose pruned hands, instead of the later. It's easier, less discomfort. It does not demand your heart. It forces you to dance and forget to listen. But if our hands are meant to make, they too must shake.

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If the world is 100,000,000 miles, I know a fraction of an inch. But if I could say one thing about art within that fraction, I would say force yourself to be persistent. There will be days when you want to jump out and dry off. Don't. Stay in. Keep treading. The song, the book, the painting might demand your time. You might get blisters, you may bleed. But the truth is worth it.

Walk back to the paper. Pick up the pen.

"So live life like you're giving up
Cause you act like you are
Go ahead and just live it up
Go on and tear me apart
It's alright to shake
Even my hand does sometimes
So inside we rage
Against the dying of the light
It's alright to say that deaths the only thing you haven't tried
But just for today
Hold on."

Even My Dad Does Sometimes, Ed Sheeran