Art is the language of the unspoken; art is the path to the lost; art is shelter to the homeless and wandering; art, is the voice to the mute.
Art is what you think, art is what you can imagine, art is what you see, art is what you make and destroy. In every ticking second, in every falling leaf, in those wrinkles, the freckles of the skin and the eyes hiding pain within.
Every stroke of your brush, every bend of an alphabet, all those hues, all those dreams in the night through the day, what you do, what you don’t, what you will and what you can’t, there’s a pattern which goes unseen, in that pattern lies the art.
Do you see the curves on you? All that flesh and bones that make you? How are they tethered? How to they function? From the synapses between the neurons to conversations between morons, do you see the pattern?
In the burning fire, in the tides, skies and stars, pick your canvas, put your colours, draw a connection, or make a tune you desire. Have you heard the dew drop? Do you hear the wind through fields and crops?
Whatever we do, we create. Whatever we don’t is still a creation. Art is an expression, art is life itself. Who are we to deny?
Art is always judged by eyes of distasteful.