I used to try to think about what art was. Was it a painting? A way of life? It took a stone cold night listening to good music and feeling newness that I realized that to understand art I would have to think from the outside. Be something else: something completely different because here I experience in retrospect. I’ve always been told that hindsight is 20/20. I feel it ethical therefore and exemplary of the good for you to give me a chance to prove that I am what I think that I am before you start coming to conclusions.
What am I? L’Art c’est moi. Not really. The art of my tattoo is that it is completely untrue. By labeling myself as something universal I admit my own insignificance. However, my conscious is astute enough that by having the ability to view myself in relation to the divine I thereby prove my existence. Discovering life is really the closest experience we have to what we are looking for in Art. A sunrise or starry night is brilliantly and infinitely more beautiful than the Mona Lisa, Guernica, The Last Judgment, and Lavender Mist combined.
The human being, when he is presented with an experience complete with observer, object, and reaction he is gaining that which he sought from Art. Love is art; kisses are art; ecstasy is art; but also suffering, loss, and tears. You think I sound a bit Taoist eh? No, I do not accept evil; I simply acknowledge it. By curtsying, I size up my opponent, measure the distance to his heart, and wait. The human experience can be lived under the guise we call Art but the rabbit hole is very deep. Do you really want to ponder the unanswerable, see with alien eyes, and feel every minute? If you follow be prepared: long is the road to a life well lived. Even more so it’s a damn shoddy one. But if you can get out of the car, slow down, and look around you might be pleasantly surprised. Follow me: I’m late.