I used to have dreams of dying in tornadoes.
The eerie sirens of Central Kansas gave warning to my great anxieties and, try as they might, no one could comply with my urgings to get in the basement fast enough.
Yet, in the night, I would watch out my window as lightning danced across the sky. How could something so devastating be a source of comfort?
Now, recalling those days are bittersweet. I miss the awe and presence of a storm, the world bating its breath for release. Adults spend their lives in pursuit of control, a chase to be the largest thing in a room. But something about art calls to the contrary– such beauty and terror can only be understood when you are made aware of your diminutive size, when its scale and volatility outstrips your own. Awe is comforting, but by no means a comforting thing.
So make no mistake, art is terror. Gazing into the depths of infinity, the creator hopes to make something the viewer can never quite understand, but in their awe, they might feel a fraction of the power of a storm. Do you know and chase this elation? It's what I search for, and want to help you achieve.
When Isaac isn't writing overly dramatic about sections, he's probably sprinting directly at the next creative project that remotely catches his interest. If you suppose you might have something that can do that, he likely agrees! So never feel afraid to sniff around or drop a pitch.
