Inspiration

It was a cold November night a few years ago; one of those nights whose whispers, announcing the approaching snowfall, become louder and inevitably reach my ears, where the air is crisp, almost razor-sharp, cracking like a whip, where the smell of pure, chilled air fills my warm summery lungs and where the empty streets of New York City are filled with the sudden void of in between seasons.

I gently pulled my bed sheets, wakening the mild perfume of detergent, and laid my heavy head on the pillow, evenly spreading out my thoughts. With each passing moment, my body started to descend into the mattress while the day began its surrender - leaving me to the mysterious nothing yet to come...

My eyes were closed when the serenity was interrupted: a fast pacing storm of distinct pictures and vivid colors, of unique characters and dialogues, of old french music and moods as diverse as only a human soul can be, invaded my mind. Dense Inspiration at its purest hit me like a thunderbolt and took over everything that is me: It spread from my eyes to the tip of my fingers, adhered to my bones until they merged and rushed through my blood in a state of urgency, pushed its way through my veins and pumped up my heart.

I glared at the ceiling, gasping for air, pushed away the bed sheets I had wrapped myself in only moments earlier - its cozy warmth suddenly an obstacle. I jumped out of the bed, ran to the kitchen to prepare fresh coffee only to run immediately back to my bedroom where I slid the heavy window with all my strength and as fast as I could to let all the air in that I could possibly inhale while still surrounded by darkness. The light switch seemed to be yet another obstacle, but one I could live without overcoming.  I prepared my desk that was facing the open window with the one thing that would be needed for the moments to come: a blank page on my laptop's screen. And when I finally sat down I looked up into the dark blue sky , greeted the moon and started to write. 

I remember how I tried to write as fast as possible, led by the fear of losing the pictures in my head at any moment, led by the rage that my fingers could not type as fast as I could see and led by the rush of Inspiration still running through my veins that made my heart beat so fast that I would not breathe but gasp for air. 

Four hours later: 'M4 - My Many Married Men' was born and I sat there in the darkness, my inspiration looking right at me.

In someone else's shoes...

©Saman Giraud

Patience 1

 

©Saman Giraud 

Balloons

 

©Saman Giraud 

Art

Art is a strong magnet with infinite faces - always new and unpredictable. An Artist is a creator on his own, making use of his ability to bring his thoughts to a thick essence of life that is universal - a channel inviting to a new path. And although Art can be born in any form, we can call it by only one name. Just like the word Love - there are no synonyms for Art. One word that embraces it all. One word that says it all.

Children of Art are desirable magnets: admired, envied, observed - a source of energy, brave sensibility and a source of world understanding in a wordless language that will remain for many unseen, ignored, invisible or avoided.

Artists shine by creating their own sun, regardless what the sun might mean to most of us. And like vampires who crave blood, others will run towards them, tanning in an Artist sun, not realizing that they are standing in the shade...