Drizzled in Art

Wikipedia defines art as "a diverse range of human activities in creating visual, auditory or performing artifacts – artworks, expressing the author's imaginative or technical skill, intended to be appreciated for their beauty or emotional power". 

The truth, however, is less verbose. It's simple. Art is art. There are no definitions. I think literally anything that basically nails that particular essence of, "man, this is beautiful, I like it" is art.

Art is for everyone, because art is in everyone. To engage in art is to, simply, enjoy it. And the only way to enjoy art is to devour it, even in the most pedestrian of ways— in listening to a song and losing track of your surroundings, in turning puffs of hookah into swirling ghosts, and even in taking a photograph with your grainy phone camera to immortalize a fleeting moment. This, and much more, is art. 

The question remains. Why art? What is the reason behind my love affair with art, that compelled me to dedicate not one but two posts about it?

I spoke at length –albeit pretentiously– about the why here. See, as a kid I remember drawing squiggles with crayon over every blank space I could find. Art was my way of escaping reality, opening a glimpse into a world created by me, wherein all the things I wanted to stay away from could be removed as easily as with an eraser. I have come a long way from that first crayoned squiggle; my command over art is constantly evolving as I change as a person. I now scam my friends into paying me to draw caricatures of them with celebrities. Art is now no longer just an escape, but the very essence of my life (she said, pretentiously).

This is where DeviantArt comes into the picture. For the past year, I have been trying my hand at a little amateur illustration. Although drizzled in art (my posts are very sporadic), do check out my DA profile, its USP being a medley of fun, passion, and procrastination. 

See you on the flip side.

Let's talk about art..

When we think of art, we typically think of oil canvas paintings hanging in a museum or unclad cherubs on the high ceiling of a cathedral. 

But, reader, art isn't confined only to such highbrow places. Because art is, in fact, everywhere.

Art has no boundaries, emerging in every shape and form, in every nook and corner of the world, just waiting to be interpreted. Our notion of art needs to be expanded, we need to be able to identify it in everyday places– in the way gravel is strewn over the sidewalk, in the methodical peeling of paint of an old worn out wooden chair, or in the purest form of joy expressed on a child's face.

Art can be found in the most ordinary places. What follows is a medley of what I would categorize as art– random photographs captured and chronicled in my phone gallery.

Bottom line, Reader, art can be found anywhere and everywhere, as long as we are willing to find it, and devour it in all of its glory.

Disclaimer: Sure what I call art, might not be "art" to you. And that's okay. Because that is where its beauty lies: appreciation of art is subjective. The world is our art museum, and we are just chin-stroking critics in scarves.

Counting Mississippis

I used to wish that life was a movie– or one of those bad sit-coms complete with its de rigueur laughter track and wilhelm screams; exhausting hours spent in the making, forced chemistry between actors, cheesy lines to memorize, multiple takes to get one scene right, and ultimately leading to the grand finale. 

I was always a big fan of this so called grand finale, the happily ever after, the italicized fin., credits rolling up, the whole shebang. I desperately wanted my happily ever after. Right now, I wish I could go back and ask past Anna what the phrase even meant to her, because I don't get it. The very institution of the so called "happily ever after" just doesn't make sense to me right now. I'm not being cynical, I'm not saying people do not end up happy; to me "happily ever after" just raises a phenomenal: now what? Because unless, of course, you expect the rest of your life to go on in the crazy credit scenes, a happily-ever-after just doesn't seem ideal.

It's like the word "content". The word "content" never really sat well with me. To me, it suggests a kind of decay. A settling. A tendency to overlook the journey.

We all have our fair share of theories on life– Forrest Gump compared life to a box of chocolates, Albert Camus said life is meaningless, and the pretentious side of me likes to think that life is a conveyor belt of moments sequenced illogically. 

Irrational and temperamental— I change my major in college, like I change the highlights in my hair, on a whim. I'm constantly evolving who I am and what I love, and it's all because of these moments– the happy, the sad, the excruciatingly humiliating, the excruciatingly mundane, each seemingly insignificant moment. They might not all tie up together at the end in a neat little bow, loose ends and red herrings are inevitable in life. But if I had a choice I would never fast-forward through all these moments just to get to the end. I'd rather look forward to my during than my happily ever after. No, this is not some elaborate take on YOLO; all I'm saying is, each second, each eternal four-syllabled mississippi counts. 

And I'm so grateful for my tally of mississippis; and if I could hit rewind, I wouldn't change a thing.