*Originally ran October 14, 2015*
“There Can Never Be a Valid Defintion of Art”
Art is the way that your hair tangles in curves and spirals across the pillowcase. It is the way that your sleepy eyes slowly open and add two bright spheres of light to the world. It is the stretching and bending of limbs and the way your feet feel as they hit the cold floor. It is the wrinkles and creases in your clothes and the way the fabric folds as you dance.
Art is the sunlight that peaks over the rooftops and through colorful stain glass windows. It is sunbeams dancing through lacy curtains, making intricate patterns on the windowsill. It is the glistening shimmer on the sidewalk as a small coin catches the glow of the sun. It is the rush of wind you feel on your face, as a hurried figure makes their way to work. It is the brush of a hand you feel on your arm, as a child weaves their way through the crowded sidewalk. It is the sweet smile of a stranger strolling along beside you.
Art is the quick heart doodled on the window on a foggy morning. It is coffee stains on old t-shirts and paint splattered onto arms. It is the tickle felt by a forgotten sketchbook as a pencil finally finds its way to the page again. It is an accidental splash of color and a carefully planned out floral arrangement. It is the symphony of voices in a busy train station, the beat of fingers tapping on a desk, and the sound of laughter that shakes your whole body.
Art is the way we attempt to define undefinable feelings. It is flexible and ever changing and perfectly imperfect, which is also a good description of the world that we live in. It is also a great description of you. Because you are flexible and ever changing, perfectly imperfect, undefinable, and simply put: a work of art.