Specificity...

gets me every time.

I love being around people who really know how to appreciate the world. The people who find beauty, humor, tragedy in the smallest moments. My grandmother who can watch her cats play together for hours like they are the most practiced of comedians. My mother who always points out the obvious like it is a huge surprise, because to her it is. My father who I catch staring at me and the rest of his children like we are the most magnificent creatures he has ever seen, because to him we are. My old acting teacher Larry who looks at his fingers and palms with the deepest of gratitude and says, "These are my hands," as if he is just discovering it in that moment. Alesha who will shriek with excitement when the average person would just pleasantly smile. Alex who, once hooked by a certain topic, will research it until the sun goes down and up again. My sister who will recall and laugh at strange sounds made or stupid things said years and years ago. And, so many more people. In art, this kind of specificity is crucial. It takes a general feeling or idea, compacts it into a bullet, and directs it straight at your gut. If we do not pay attention to these small moments, our art will never make any sort of impact. We will be left grasping for intangible, muddled ideas, as the truth slips through our fingers.