One of my favorite pseudo-intellectual questions in university was “what is art?” It isn’t that this is an unimportant question. Rather, I think there is more than one right answer, and all these professors trying to find just one definition miss the point of art, so to speak, completely.
Art feels like the tide.
Moving in and out and around me, when someone or something causes my breathing to change, my heart to quicken, I recognize art. Not because it is beautiful or elegant, but because it is honest, or sometimes because it is the way things should be, could be, but often are not. Sometimes, it is a painting. Sometimes a photo or poem. Sometimes, it is an act of gentleness between people.
And it feels like motion, forces bigger and longer lasting than I am. Like the tide.
First published on irevuo.com, The Midnight Muse.