(Conversation with a Kurdish sister)It was a fleeting conversation on a digital interface, but it touched a thread deeper than just a chat; a conversation with a Kurdish friendAs an audience, she sees a contradiction in me: "Brother Nowruz, your writings annoy me a little and instills a doubt in me." You're a singer and you have a beautiful voice and audience, why don't you just focus on singing? "
Her question, despite its simplicity, is a fundamental question about my art and life, reflecting perhaps the case of many who prefer art as “escapee” rather than “confrontation.”
My response to her was harsh and direct, stemming from a feeling of inability to communicate the full meaning to someone:
I told her "because you're causing problems and you don't understand me."
He sounded a rude reply, and she confessed puzzled: "What is this, brother Norooz?" You only know me on Facebook."
And here, the withdrawal from the surface of the relationship begins to the depths of the shared human experience. I didn't mean it as an individual, but that collective awareness that carries weight and questions. Had to check, is this just a personal dialogue or a reflection of a public situation?
I asked her: "Do you have problems?" "
She softly replied ' YES. "
I asked her deeper: "Do you feel like some people can't hear you?"
And her answer was decisive, "Yes."
Writing as a hammer and singing as a bridge to cross
Her words proved that we are on the same ground, sharing that silent pain
I told her: "This is why I write and sing for people." As long as these issues exist, I will keep writing."
Here lies the philosophical answer: I am not a singer turned writer, I am a human with two tools for resistance and expression. Writing and singingThe art of 'manifestation' and 'false serenity'
Singing, my darling sister is a honey bridge over a raging river. It's the instrument that allows the audience to listen to me without lifting armor. It's a warm sonic hug that eases the harshness of reality. It's the melody that makes you sway for a moment, forgetting that the words he sang tell your broken story.
Singing is the 'beautification of truth', it is an art that allows me to enter people's hearts smoothly, like 'stardust' that cannot be denied. Audiences love the singer because he gives him an injection of "deferred hope" or "beautiful sadness."
Writing: The art of 'conflicting' and 'the sincere doubt'
Writing is something else entirely. It's not a bridge; it's a cracked mirror I put before your eyes. When I write, I'm the 'surgeon who doesn't use narcotics', a tool to dismantle brain bombs. She who plants doubt in you, because she forces you to think.
Writing is a thought. As for normal talk is not a thought.
This sentence is the key to the conundrum Normal talking is "a sponge to absorb the moment", but writing is "a knife's age on the stone of time."
Writing is where the singer comes out of the performance circle and becomes the mind of the crowd. It's a desperate attempt to get a hold of the forced absentee into our awareness. It's the search for the fourth dimension in human relationships that the passing song doesn't show. It's an attempt to "open the skull" and see the gears turn. The first sin of heaven: is art the manufacture of disorder?
And here the most important philosophical question, which erases the concept of artistic need from its core if problems did not exist: If you and people did not have problems, was there a need to think, solve problems, write and sing?
The answer is shocking: No, absolutely not.If we lived in an eternal "Paradise of Eden" where there is no shortage, no injustice, no silence, no question, man would turn into a "silent statue of marble". Why do we wonder if all the answers are in our hands? Why do we write when the truth is as clear as the sun? Why do we sing if our feelings are flat and perfectly stable?
Thought is the 'sword in the fire of necessity. Swords are not forged in a time of absolute peace.
Writing is a "map" drawn in the darkness of loss and loss. We won't draw a map for a road we know too well.
Singing is a “holy whistle” or “celebration of ascension,” not just air passing through the throat.
Problems are not obstacles; they are the 'fuel of awareness' and the oxygen of creativity. Art, at its core, is a "noble resistance" against the tracking of existence and the silence of the universe.
Bizarre Metaphor: When Opposites Meet
I write to sing, and I sing to write.
I am a musical instrument with two openings: the first opening comes out of which a melody (vocals), which is "Silk River". The second opening comes out of which noise (writing), which is "midnight rooster crowing".
I am a "chemist": Singing is turning pain into "optical gold" that can be sold (song), while writing is turning silence into "poisonous ink" that must be drank (disturbing thinking).
I'm like the Greek myth of "Orpheus": I hold a guitar (singing) to calm the monsters and cross to the realm of the dead (absent consciousness), but I use words (writing) to remember the face of "Eurides" (truth) that I shouldn't look directly at.
Oh my darlingAs long as you feel unheard, and as long as the problems of human existence have not found their final solution in a passing song, my guitar will remain in one hand, and the pen will be a sword in the other. Because true art is not a luxury; it is a process of “continuous inventory” of our imperfections.
Did my posts bother you?That means I've succeeded in pushing you to think, and that's the greatest tune I could ever play.
