Have you ever noticed that life, is art?
Paintings, are art; poetry, is art; architecture, is art; furniture, is art; fashion, is art; talking, is art.
People are art!
What is art, other than a story, after all, that is how art began. Not all stories are intentional, and often the most intimate histories are those told after the individual’s time. That seems to be the case because then their stories are not designed for an audience, but are instead told without their consent. Honesty is scary, so listen to what people do not realize that they are saying, if you are interested.
Learn stories, by opening your grandmother’s closet, visiting vintage stores, going to the Louvre to look at ancient Greek coins, or a Egyptian woman's mirror, that looks now like a reflective surface! A saved lock of hair, worn in a locket next to a picture, can more intimately connect you to an individual that you will never meet, than any artist’s calculated composition.
Some, typically less popular, art museums exhibit Chinese common bowls from the Ming Dynasty. Domestic objects, like these were habitually used, not unlike the ones that Americans regularly fill with Coco Pebbles!
Let that marinate, and get back to me.
People tell stories during and after their lives, and their histories take on countless forms. Art is traditionally studied through paintings and sculptures, but why stop there, because those can be just as deceptive as textbooks. “History is written by the winners,” ring any bells?
Art communicates, although its meanings vary, and are never definite. Even if an artist had a particular story in mind, it is not always true. Then again, what is truth, and who ever conceived of such a ridiculous concept? Can we ever “truly,” “know” a “fact”, because I believe that there is no such thing as certainty. Life is ambiguous, despite profound revelations and scientific discoveries, which are constantly “corrected,” by the way.
Art does not have to tell truths, however, if you start to examine art as histories, which we use for truths about the past, then art’s definition, and “purpose” get more complicated. Life is complicated, so art should be, as well, which leaves us at a good place, I suppose.
Art isn’t just about past stories, but it lives within the clothes, tv shows, cell phones, and even water bottles that surround us today.
When it comes to individuals, every one’s story is worth telling, regardless of its length. People are remarkable, and accomplish remarkable things. Diverse individuals make history rich, and worth learning, in the first place. It is all about the human connection, because we all want to feel linked in our humanity.
Families are universal because they contribute to our histories. Families’ differ, even within cultures, and individuals differ, within families. No two people ever have the same experience, in my sense of the word. An “experience” is in internalization of exterior variables, or basically, how individuals react to his or her surroundings. These reactions are another form of story-telling, or art, if you are patient enough to observe.
People tell stories in the most subtle, and unintentional ways. The outfit on the person, standing across from you in the metro is communicating. The way a person looks, or avoids looking; touches, or resists touching; speaks, or remains quiet, is insightful. You can really get to know a person, before they even utter a syllable, and in fact, the language barrier in Paris taught me to notice people. I cannot always understand what a stranger says, so I use alternative sources, like his or her body language. If you really think about it, half of the time that people talk, they are mostly filling up conversations with words. They might not be meaningless, however, they are arranged for your interpretation. When people do not know that you are looking, or learning, about them, that is when you begin to see who they really are, and not who they want to be. I am convinced that no individual is entirely content with himself or herself, and they are constantly “correcting” themselves for others. Conscious self-improvement can be wonderful, however, much it complicates how we understand people, and their stories; and therefore, how we understand art.
Life, or art, thrives on ambiguities, and being examined beyond generic definitions.
(My apologies, if you endured my entire philosophical enemy) = )
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