It’s not quite 4:30 a.m. and, again, I’m up for the day. And my mind is on art.
If you’re anything like me, and if you look up “art” in the dictionary (depending on which ones, I suppose), you will find a series of definitions that are wholly inadequate to describe the process or the outcome of the creativity and technical proficiency that go into conceiving and creating the subjects of wonder that so captivate our imaginations. Art is one of the best alternatives to superstition; it is its own mystery and its own promise of extraordinary beauty. Even the most hideous works of art are almost celestial in their spirit. Would that I were an artist instead of an aspiring technician who has neither the creativity nor the technical proficiency to create truly great, or even good, art. I know this because, yesterday, I saw some real art, art that emerged from the realm of majesty. And it was all local; Arkansas art from Arkansas artists. Even in deep red states, where bigots attempt to control the masses through fanatical religious moralizing, art can flourish.
