About

“The pure, frank sentiments we hold in our hearts are the only truthful sources of art. A painting which does not take its inspiration from the heart is nothing more than futile juggling. All authentic art is conceived at a sacred moment and nourished in a blessed hour; an inner impulse creates it, often without the artist being aware of it.” – Caspar David Friedrich

The World-historical struggle to articulate the Other to the Self and the Self to the Other.

My name is Sebastian. Years ago my 16-year old eyes fell upon a biographical description of Soren Kierkegaard. I couldn’t believe it. Someone had done it, someone, stretching out beyond the thousands of years of history had truly, authentically, and miserably accomplished what I had merely played with until that time. The man in his 20’s took what he loved most, his fiancée Regine, and gave her up, broke off his engagement, all in order to better serve what he saw as his life’s task: to become a Christian.

I was flooded with emotions. How can anyone just do something like that? This radical and unthinkable abnegation. Us with our only life, the anxiety of irrevocable decisioning, what could ever make it possible for someone to do something so difficultly irresponsible?

Ever since that day I have not been able to cease my thinking- not upon the profound inner life of that otherwise normal man who wrote obsessively, not upon his emphasis on the maturity it takes to actually live life intentionally, and most of all, vulnerable to what is called Thinking, Philosophy, & Religion- these things that gives people the strength to do what they otherwise couldn’t do alone; that helps them to become more of who they are.

From that moment, after years of traversing the history of philosophy, psychology, literature, anthropology, after ambling about my University intoxicated by meeting as many as I can, the many beautiful souls, learning from them, understanding them, contemplating, and most of all, ever deepening my relationship with myself, I have become enraptured with this world we call life and am set ablaze. Thus have I commissioned this as a threshing floor of thought and in earnest, as Caspar Friedrich says, it really is not my decision. Alas, it is this dancing that leaves me in want of nothing. It is the first way in which I learned to pray.

I dedicate this to you, you single individual who reads this. Who you are, I know not, where you are, that neither. Forgive my feeble attempt to give back to you what you have given to me.

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