Since its debut earlier this year, I have really enjoyed Szymon Kudrański’s Something Epic. Specifically, I enjoy Kudrański’s exploration of the creation and role of art in lives, the ways that art informs us and tells us more about the world we inhabit. I’ve written multiple posts about Kudrański’s series, exploring the ways we use words and imagination to create worlds and the ways that our subconscious manifests itself as we sleep. I just picked up issue #6, the penultimate issue in the first arc. In the issue, Dan must confront himself in the world he created in his mind, and the antagonist, an entity without a face, seeks to destroy everything. This destruction would lead to the end of reality as well.

As with each of the issues in the series, it begins with a sort of narrative voice laying out the philosophical crux of the issue, whether that be dealing with the power or words, our dreams, or something else. Here, art and whether or not it can “be deadly” lies at the heart of the issue. On a two-page spread where the entity arrives in the Dan’s imaginative world, bringing with it monsters to destroy Dan’s other creations, the narrative voice asks us, “Can art be dangerous? Can art be deadly?” The implication of these questions, with the entity’s arrival, of course points to yes.

Art impacts us in a myriad of ways, and for some that impact is extremely powerful. Some individuals have “a medical condition called Stendhal Syndrome” which causes them to react to art in a physical manner, leading to hallucinations, increased heart rates, and other symptoms. During artistic creation, the artist themselves experience impacts from the art that they create. The narrator continues by noting that “creators always leave a part of themselves in their art — real emotions encapsulated in reality. A snapshot of what is hidden within.”

When an artist creates, the artist delves into themselves, pulling at the threads that they know exist and also at the threads that lie hidden underneath the surface. Creation, no matter the medium, causes us to look inward, to confront ourselves and to expose ourselves to the world. When I play music, especially when I played live with a band, this feeling overwhelmed me. Each of the songs I performed had a part of me in them, something I may not have realized when writing the song, but when performing it, the feelings arose. Part of that had to do with the interactions I had with the crowd, but a lot of it was emotional release, a release of the unseen parts of myself manifesting themselves in the music that arose from my being.

The narrator continues by telling us that as they create art “an artist attempts to reconfigure their feelings, materializing them externally to express them in a different medium — be it written words, paintings, music, or film. A little like plants photosynthesizing, capturing sunlight and changing it into energy.” It is a process of taking what we cannot see what we do not know exists, and shaping it into something tangible. That act of creation, that act of molding ourselves into art, leads us to discovery and to connections, connections that build bridges between ourselves and others.

The artist feels during the creation process, and that feeling gets transmitted to the audience. Some experience intense reactions to works of art, but even if one doesn’t have those strong reactions that have a response. The narrator continues by stating, “Being exposed to art almost always elicits some sort of emotional response, and often physical ones too. We become defenseless in its presence.” These responses are “the power of creation”; they are the power of connection. They are the acts that bring us face to face with ourselves, leading us along the “long road out of hell” to where we can face what lies beneath our conscious thoughts.

During the battle, the entity defeats The Freedom Union and the Texan, creations of Dan’s mind who stand to protect freedom and innocence, a comic-book “personification,” as the entity puts it, “of flawless justice.” Standing over the Texan, the entity returns to the fear and pain and artist experiences in the birthing of art and that the audience experiences when encountering art. He tells the Texan that he arose from those depths “of pure fear, depravity, and grief.” His manifestation of these emotions is “the reason they are afraid to look at their reflections in the mirror” because once the reflections tell them so much about themselves, even causing “them to betray their loved ones.”

We need the pain and suffering alongside the beauty and innocence. They are all a part of life; they are all a part of art because art reflects life in its myriad manifestations. Art serves as a release of pain and suffering, as a way for us to come into contact with what we fear and what causes us suffering. If we don’t confront these things, we will supress them, pushing them further and further into ourselves that they will consume us. We must stare at ourselves, even if we don’t like what we see, because only when we examine our own reflections, delving into our very beings, can we become our true selves and then work to make the world a better place for all.

Art provides windows for us. It provides bridges that connect us toegther. It provides us a means of communication that allows us, at our most vulnerable, to reach out and connect with others, sharing in the experiences that manifest themselves in artistic creation. I always think of James Baldwin when he said, “You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.” While our torments may be different on the surface, we all experience them. We can connect with others through art that exposes these torments.

For me, literature does this. It connects me with others. It educates me. It leads me to empathy and understanding. Reading novels such as Hala Aylan’s The Salt Houses informed me about the Nakba and the Palestinian diaspora. Reading Ernest Gaines’ work informed me about my home state and the racist history that still impacts it to this day. Reading Lillian Smith caused me to turn a mirror upon myself and confront my unconscious and implicit biases. All of these authors, and more, taught me about myself and the world around me. They did this through art, exposing themselves in their creations and allowing me and others to partake in the exchange of ideas, connecting us to one another even if we will never meet in person. This is art. This is how art can be “dangerous” but that danger is nothing to be afraid of because that danger opens us open to others. It’s not danger that keeps us from expanding; it’s fear.

What are your thoughts? As always, let me know in the comments below. Make sure to follow me on Twitter @silaslapham.