Struck by Statue

Day after day everything was starting to run together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.  Each day turned into the next, almost as if I was living the same day over and over again. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months but it made no difference since everything felt exactly the same. It was true,  I’d been cursed by routine. 

Somewhere in the haze of last year it felt as if every ounce of creativity in my body had been drained out of me. To be honest, I can’t even remember when, because looking back at that time period in my life, there was no mark to remember it by, no significant events, no emotions I can recall, nothing. Zero. Zip. 

Going back a little farther I should probably mention I  have always considered myself a right-brainer. I enjoyed painting before I could even hold a brush. The world was my canvas and I knew no limits. The walls of my entire house were filled with my beautiful depictions of the world. My room was filled with paintings, photographs and color, everything that inspired me and was therapeutic to my soul. With a smile on my face, I found inspiration everywhere I looked; it didn’t take me very long to channel that into my own way of expression through art. So when things started slowing spiraling into a creative dry spell, I hardly even knew who I was anymore. 

As I sat in my room one day, like a statue staring blankly into nothingness, I heard a slight knock and the door open slowly. My mom stood in the doorway, very aware of my abnormal lifeless state. 

“Is everything alright Soph? You haven’t seemed very happy lately,” my mom asked in her calm yet concerned voice. And like everything else I shrugged it off with, “Yeah, I’m fine mom.” I was getting to the point where you might have mistaken me for a zombie or maybe even a statue for that matter, walking lifelessly and looking at the world with no perception of anything. I simply existed, took up space, I was gradually turning to stone and there was nothing that could cure me. Nothing sparked my interest, nothing made me laugh, nothing made me want to create. I did, however, learn one thing while I was lacking in my creativity, and that was I wasn’t happy without it. 

Realizing I’d been trapped inside my own mind, it only made things worse. I knew there was something off inside of me, something not quite right. Yet the harder I tried to figure it out, the more confused and frustrated with my dull-minded state I became. I forced myself to look for inspiration, and somehow that backfired too. I would sit in front of my computer mindlessly surfing the internet, the mind poisoning cyber world, scrolling through infinite photography and art blogs, only to make myself more unhappy. Comparing myself to these creative individuals who never seemed to lack originality, made me feel completely and utterly useless. My mind turned to rubble as I scrolled through their work in envy. Their mind-blowing master pieces, acrylics, watercolors, sculptures, each better than the previous. If only I could have painted something as wonderful or been in the right moment to snap that perfect photograph... but all those other artists beat me to it.  If there were other amazing artists out there who have already established and beautifully expressed themselves to the world at the same age as I, what hope did I have? The more I forced myself to seek, the more I dwindled down the black hole of self-hatred. 

I was fed up with the feeling that everything was constantly the same. That every day never had anything new to offer, nothing that sparked my interest, nothing that struck my fancy. That’s when I knew I needed to get out of this town for a while. I just needed to leave and get out of my self-pitying routine each day. I needed something new, to be somewhere that would distract me and offer something I’ve never seen before. Faith must have heard my crying plea, because this summer gave me the lifetime opportunity to take a trip to Italy.

One of my closest friends, Maria, is full-blood Italian and most of her family lives in Italy. So when she asked me to go with her this summer I jumped at the idea. Just the idea of being somewhere new got me excited. Somewhere that would distract me and pull me out of my daily routine. 

Right away I fell in love. In love with the culture, the art, the architecture, the people, the beautiful landscapes, the history, everything that Italy had to offer me. Knowing I was only going to be there for two weeks, I made sure I got to experience every little piece of it to the fullest. I was always wanting more, to see more places, meet more people.

Visiting museums was nothing new to me, but as we walked through the Accademia, I was in a state of awe I’ve never felt before as I studied each of Michelangelo’s sculptures. The bodies half emerging from the block of stone, as if they were trying to break free. They were beyond beautiful but when I turned my head, it was as if time stopped and I were in the midst of a movie, a natural spotlight of sun beamed down upon the Statue of David’s head as if casting an angelic halo and I froze in my tracks. 

Slowly I was starting to re-charge, to get the life back in me, that I so seemed to have lost. My smile was back, as were my emotions. But what really brought me back to life was the sight of Michelangelo’s Statue of David.

Without even thinking about it I slowly started walking over to admire this beautiful creation. I circled it slowly studying every intricate detail etched from a once huge chunk of marble. Every wave and curl of his hair, the distant look in his eyes, the perfect portrayal of his muscles. Even his over sized hands, feet and head added to his beauty. But what really put me into respect were the tiniest details, the veins you could see in his arms and hands. How could one individual create something so big, something so beautiful with only his bare hands? I was awe-struck.

Tears silently started rolling down my cheeks as I absorbed the masterpiece right in front of my eyes. Suddenly everything I felt I’d lost in the last six months rushed back into my soul. I could feel my passion for art start pumping through my veins again, like I had been shocked by electricity back into my right mindset. 

“Sophie? Hey Soph, are you ok? Don’t get all emotional on me now!” Maria said light heartedly. Her voice brought me back to reality, remembering who and where I was. 

“Oh, Right. Ya I’m here,” I kind of giggled to myself, happily realizing what had happened. The renewal I felt was empowering.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Maria suggested. 

“Umm, alright. I’ll catch up with you in a second, I’m going to walk around one more time them meet up with you.”

Even though the Statue of David is considered somewhat of a “cliche” symbol of Florence, I didn’t hesitate to look deeper into Michelangelo’s creation. People from all over the world came to see this beautiful work of art. I wondered, “How many other people’s live has he changed?” How could an object, one simple object of such great power pull me back into my creative flow. One simple statue. The realization was almost overwhelming, looking up into his stone cold eyes. But I was content again, I wanted to create. Whether it was for my own sake, the sake of Michelangelo, or the sake of making art, in hopes of maybe changing someone else’s life. Whatever the reason, I didn’t question it, I just let myself be happy with the fact I’d gotten back my beautiful way of looking at the world.