Art

I was in a sort of gallery today, waiting for my parents to be finished with something, and I looked at all the art. There wasn't much - it's just one circular room with its walls almost covered with art from various local artists.

I love art. I love looking at it, and making it. And it takes a lot to impress me - the piece has to be original, and unique, not something anyone could do. If I feel like I could make something just as good myself - my interest is lost. And at museums, I don't like to linger. I look at something, appreciate it, try to understand why and possibly how the artist made it, and what it could mean, and move on. I try to do all of these things, but if the art isn't compelling enough, then I won't. But today, I had time to kill. So I resolved to really look at the art, every single piece, and try to give them equal attention and credit. The ones I didn't like as much, I looked at more, and tried to understand. Tried to see why they were hanging up on this wall, with a name and a painter's name and a price, when they weren't that good.

The thing about art is that it's a kind of therapy. And it's a great therapy - believe me, I know. In fact, my mom has a degree in art therapy. But if you're going to make art professionally, and sell it, and let that be your job, then you've got to separate that from therapy. Or else be extremely creative and original and precise in your therapy time. It's great, preferable, to be doing the kind of art you like, a piece you're inspired to do, something that your heart is in - but decide if it's for yourself or for art.

I realized today that art is a way of letting go. When you're making art, you think of nothing but the art. And when you see art, when you really delve into it, you think of nothing but the art. You can become completely absorbed into a flower petal or a tree or a little child's face painted on a canvas, and everything else is just...erased. Gone. For the moment.