People are willing to work for money. And people are willing to pay money for emotion.
I can imagine myself, with an oddly shaped glass jar, chasing emotion, and capturing it.
This glass jar can never be full. But I will strive to fill it, by capturing emotion.
I would capture my emotions in a song. A song with a broken voice.
I would capture my emotions in a large wooden construct, outdoor. Where I’d paint on it, and allow mother nature to strip it down and plead on its knees.
I would capture my emotions in a short story, written only once without alterations.
My glass jar empowers me as the curator of these emotions.
I can peek also expect you to want to peek into my glass jar.
Maybe not you.
Maybe you.
But I’m very sure some select people to want a ride in my vehicles of artistic expression. Why? Because it causes them to emote. And that is what they want.
They want to hear my song and cry to it. Again and again.
They want let the light and shadow of their lounge play with my wooden construct, transforming the space surrounding them.
They want to go where their imaginations have never been, and reading my short story will take them there.
And they will be willing to pay me money.
Or maybe we will barter… an exchange of emotions.
I can help them laugh, cry, or feel strange. And they can help me experience a priceless sense of pride.
At some point… maybe I will be paid with something even more valuable.
Something like a two week vacation to the island of solitary satisfaction… knowing that even my most selfish form of indulgence has value to someone else in this world.
I’d love to talk about it now, but I’d rather you see it without my salesmanship’s influence.
