I think it’s neither fair nor accurate to say artists are necessarily more tuned into their emotions than is the general populace. I do believe, however, that by our very nature, we were born to dissect, analyze and examine our observations and experiences in such a way as to commemorate their existence.

Sometimes, people mistake us for being too sensitive, but they are wrong.

Occasionally, we share a piece of ourselves in print and on the internet. Others may not have any idea what it is exactly we are trying to convey (though some think they do) but we put it out there all the same, hoping to connect with someone, anyone, who may be able to relate to what it is we’re expressing.

Wordnet defines “muse” as, “The source of an artist’s inspiration.” I daresay occasionally, this muse is the source of an artist’s angst as well. But how better to tame the beast than to purge it from our souls?

So we write. We create.

Although we, by and large, desire commercial success, I think we partly put it out there just for ourselves so we can move away from one experience and onto the next. (And life tells us there will always be a “next.”) And collectively, these experiences intertwine with old and new until the next poem or play or novel is born to critics’ collective acclaim.

While piecing together the present puzzle–there seems to be a new one each week–that woke me up this morning two hours too soon, I found myself visiting my childhood and remembering, out of nowhere, the 1969 film”Goodbye Mr. Chips” and one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard. It returned me to a time when the most daunting task before me was learning how to ride my purple Hollywood Schwinn and finding my way about as a seven-year-old girl manuevering her bike down Uhler Avenue. (”Don’t go any farther than the Kraschinsky’s, Janemarie.”)

I do not know what inspired Leslie Bricusse to compose “Fill the World With Love,” but remembering it–and finding it online–snapped me out of my coffee coma and propelled me into the desk chair. It also moved me to tears.

Purging. And that is that. And that is all.

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