Léda Karmazin
It is the year 3038, and I live on Venus.. Around five hundred years ago, Earth launched the Hydrogen Fleets. Scientists had realized that the only way to make Venus livable was to send billions of tons of liquid hydrogen from the atmosphere of Jupiter. Overpopulation was not the reason for Venus. The real reason was that on Earth, the arts such as literature, poetry, writing, and drama had been banned. It was forbidden to practice them or even speak about them. So, this is the reason I am here on Venus. Music and poetry are everything to me. They move all the people who do something related to the arts onto Venus because everyone else finds it stupid. They don’t understand it.
Anyways, I’m 37 years old, and I currently don’t have a job. I live in a communal house with nine other people. The house is small, but we get along and the atmosphere is always vibrant. There are two rooms in the house. Yes, two rooms for ten people. You heard it right.
The first room has all the instruments you can think of: guitar, piano, trumpet, saxophone, flute… EVERYTHING. The air is a bit dusty in this room, but it adds a vibe. There is one rule in the room: you are not allowed to speak at all. You can only communicate your feelings through music. If you dare to speak in this room, you are instantly kicked out of the house. I know this doesn’t sound so good… ten people… small house… rules… But the reason I’m here, and everyone else is too, is because we want to train ourselves. Our inner selves. All ten of us have been through rough times because of our fields of interest. We have been completely moved to a different planet because our hearts burn for something they will never understand like we do.
We have been moved away from our families, friends, and close ones. Alright, I’m going to stop. No need to make this story emotional. So, the house… the second room is a bit more interesting than the first one. It’s a room filled with mirrors and sand. Sand on the skin and body tends to calm people down. That’s why it’s there. The mirrors show you what you will be in your next life. But it’s not permanent; if you enter the room again three years or even three months later, the mirrors may show you something completely different. It all depends on your lifestyle. Today I stood in the sand and mirror room again. This time, it didn’t show a frog or a slug. It showed a word.
MŰVÉSZET.
I didn’t know what it meant, so I translated it. Art….
I had never thought of art as a living thing. As a being. But it is. We fail to realize what impact it has had on us, how deeply it shapes the way we feel, think, grieve, love, and survive. Art is not decoration. It watches us grow. It changes with us. And maybe, in return, it changes who we become.