The Life of Art

Old Muslim Couple in Park
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If art imitated life, how dull would art be? Art takes us out of our dreary existence, lifts us up high into the realms of imagination and hope. Art provides grandeur when there is poverty, empathy when there is scorn, love when there is hatred.

Art is humanity showing the best of humanity. Art is also humanity showing the worst of humanity. It confronts and badgers us, squirms its way into our brains and won’t let go. It haunts us, harries us, insisting that we see, hear, read, think, imagine, feel, lose ourselves, become another, find ourselves. Most of all it leaves us changed.

Art gives me a reason to live. In it, I see the sum total of everything everyone has ever experienced. One brushstroke carries the heart of the artist, one note embodies the spirit of the musician, one word the soul of the writer.

If art imitated my life, there would be nothing to see. Except in the minutiae. I love the minutiae. Most people don’t even notice it exists, even when you point out what it is right under their noses. Most people want the epic, to be possessed by sights, sounds and emotions so large that they fear they will explode into a thousand stars. It is not enough to hear the sound of a cricket jumping, a flower laughing, a rock singing.

For most people, life is much better when life imitates art. And I am one of those people.

Inspired by a prompt from Cynthia Morris in her quarterly Free Write Fling.