xxvii. WHAT IS ART?
written: september 13 two thousand 16
posted: september 18 two thousand 16
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my teacher stands at the front of the room and asks the most simple question: WHAT IS ART? i don't speak out so in my head i say, art is whatever the fuck you want it to be.
to some people, art is fucking in public places like coffee shop bathrooms or in the middle of the park and being loud and obnoxious about it. art is kissing for five minutes before class in the middle of the hallway despite the weird looks they receive and the constant calls of GET A ROOM but it's just too bad neither of them give a fuck.
to some other people, art is invisible to the human eye and is only something you can feel. art is falling in love and art is being in love and art is the butterflies you get in your stomach when they laugh and art could totally possibly be the smile that stretches across your face when their skin brushes against yours. to these people art is those irreplaceable feelings that can't be conjured up on the spot. they have to be earned. you never ask for that type of art.
to some other other people, art could be something as simple as watering your flowers or taking out the trash or just as easy as breathing. some people would argue we are works of art. we are beautiful and tragic and sad and amazing in our own ways.
i want to tell him to rephrase the question and ask instead WHAT IS ART TO YOU?
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a/n: so fuckin sick of people discrediting works of art as "without merit" just because it doesn't follow a set of standards or rules or the "how-to". art is art and it's whatever you want it to be - however you want to create and/or appreciate it.
YOU ARE READING
celestial
Şiir"positioned in or relating to the sky, or outer space" because everyone I love, loved, and will ever love does, has, and will fascinate me much like the stars in the sky do.
