Cheesy music reference aside, Concept Art is going to be a semi-serious, introspective series. After a truly heartbreaking conversation a lot of times I prefer to dwell on abstractions instead of vivid details and relevant circumstances, so I thought I might as well start out big or go home.
That terrible, terrible driving force in all our lives. That which inspires us… That which makes us worth anything despite how genuinely suck-tacular we tend to be as a species. Really, in my mind, it is only our ability to love that redeems us as said species of parasitic, resource hoarding jerks. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it elsewhere because it’s been a long held belief of mine, but I alternate between whole-heartedly believing that people are here either to suffer or to love. Those seem to be the only things we all do even if sometimes we’re better at one than the other.
I don’t have much experience with love to be fair. I’ve always personally excelled at the first option, or at least focused more on avoiding the first like a demon on my heels and ignoring the second as if it didn’t exist. As with other figments of fancy and imagination, I only ever considered love when it came up in someone else’s day-to-day. See, I wrestle with thinking of it as a weakness more than anything else that has ever been – a heavy-handed blow that doesn’t kill you, but never makes you stronger either. But despite my previous lack of consideration and observance, Love is clearly real and not a twisted creation of a wandering mind as it initially seems. Similar to air, I suppose the metaphor could go: Intangible, but a constant. You can curse it, but never kill it. Avoid it, but only at your own detriment. Caught in either the gentle summer breeze of fleeting affection or lost in the whirlwind of obsessive passion. Love is a big bully that pushes you around and we all have no choice but to just take the beating.
Through it all though, I know love isn’t at fault. Not really, and oftentimes it’s easier to blame than holding the one that hurt you accountable. You don’t have to hate someone to know they have wronged you. Hell, it’s more painful to know you don’t hate them and yet still acknowledge they failed you. It doesn’t even matter how that failure came about, be it accidental, malicious, benign or catastrophic, because Love looks not with the eyes but with the soul, and thus is painted Cupid an asshole for putting us through this.
It’s not his fault, it’s not Love’s fault. It’s people: we are only human and sometimes, most times, that is simply not enough.
I guess that’s really all I have to say about it then. Poor Love, diminished only by of the object of its existence.
– Jessie Gutierrez