My Medium

When someone says the word art, what comes to mind? Some people see performing arts, theatrical dancers frolicking across a stage set before them. Others see the visual, an abundant of paint and an array of colors, swirling across a canvas. There is also the art that can be heard and felt, both through a symphony orchestra or even through a single voice. Art can even be as simple as a pencil sketching, lines and shapes on the corner of a college-ruled notebook sheet meant for one's math assignment.

Art can be defined as many things, and with each art form, there are mediums. Whether it be the style of dance, the type of paint, the family of instrument or genre of music, there are an abounding number of ways people can choose to express their thoughts, to share their original ideas and to bring their stories to life. My way—my medium, is through words.

I write to share the stories that are brought to life in my subconscious mind during the darkest hours of the night. I write to explore what else the world has to offer and the endless possibilities that can exist. I write to answer the what if's and why not's that float through the minds of readers when they come across a story so thrilling and adventurous. I write for the people, for myself and to the world because that is my way of expression, because words are my medium.

Yes, there are limitations when sharing stories, experiences and emotions through writing, but that's why so many words exist. Words exist so I can tell you of that first time he kissed me. He was so careful and gentle, so compassionate and afraid because at fifteen, was he supposed to have the whole world figured out? He only let his fingers linger on my cheek. I could hardly feel them there, but it tickled, burning like the flames of a phoenix where he touched. He was walking on thin ice, yet he made it across, safely and softly, his young lips on mine.

Words exist so I can express the level of malice and betrayal felt when my brother killed our father, all for the crown made of blood and gold. His actions hurt like a fist of thorns, shredding me from the inside, tearing out my still-beating heart as I was forced to watch my father lie motionless by the hands of the Second Prince, the forgotten son.

Words exist to I can spark my readers' imaginations and let their minds dwell into an enchanting world of magic, miniature, translucent-winged humanoids guiding them through a forest of night. The vines and leaves radiate a peculiar glow that was both blinding and hypnotizing, but what color does it emit? Maybe it's a striking shade of crimson or a royal gleam of sapphire. It can even be the haunting and alluring brilliance of purple, drawing in the protagonist as she stands among the shrouding darkness.

Through the power of words, I set the scene. With the help of my readers, there exists vibrant imagery and a universe full of possibilities, and so, I write. Here, I sit, putting words on a screen, ready to share the ideas that have been circling inside my thoughts. Then come the readers with their questions, the what if's and why not's? I answer those with more words on a blank page, stimulating the hearts and imagination of all within this community. It becomes a two-way relationship where readers and writers connect.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines art as "The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination... producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power" ("Art"). By this definition, writing is an art, and with each art form, there are mediums. Amazing things can happen when the right words are formed into sentences. They can paint a picture, tell a story and spark emotions. That is why I choose to write.  It is the reason why words are my medium.