On Art

Art is art because it can be nothing. Sometimes it just is.

Roadkill splayed across the interstate at the perfect frame in passing; all ethereal in that golden glow of late afternoon. The roots of Sycamores pushing up sidewalk slabs at sculptural angles, our most intimate conversations, or the natural/accidental juxtaposition of the objects that surround us.

All art,

maybe even more honest because of being so completely temporary.

An image that sticks in your  consciousness for a bit longer than the others because it means something. Art is just that. Something that invokes some kind of feeling of meaning by the experience of it. Either by the artist or by anyone else. That is why ‘art is not eternal’, as Ken Keasy was quotes by Tom Wolf. No two consciousnesses will ever have the same exact meaning invoked into them for the exact same reasons.

We all create reality, we all create history. Art is just our most honest record of it.


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