Over the centuries, I think we’ve lost the real meaning behind the word “art”. To me, art means beauty. It’s lemonade and grilled cheese sandwiches on a summer day with your best friend or your family. It’s an ice cream sundae in the afternoon under the light of the sun while you listen to your favorite song. See the picture I’m trying to paint here?
Art is a gift, and very few people have it.
I always love it when I pick up a book that actually paints out the scenes that are written, in color. I love it when I feel the emotions that are written out on the pages. How many books have you read that give you that nostalgic feeling of some distant memory you hadn’t thought about for years? How many songs have you listened to that drown you in scenes of your past and bring back feelings you thought you had lost?
I’m telling you, it’s very rare to find real art. And whenever I do find a song or story that take me back in time to scenes in my own life, I never want to let go of it. Whenever that happens, I’m reminded that there is still art in the world—there’s still beauty.
My goal in writing, whether it be stories or music, is to capture every emotion and color of life as I can possibly manage. I can’t say that I’ve wholly mastered art, and it might take the whole of my life before I really figure it out.
Words are special, so special that they deserve to be woven with care. We are given the chance to speak/write with beauty, and to show the world things in a variety of color. I have challenged myself to look at things through the eyes of art. I challenge you to do the same.
Art is out there just waiting to be found.