Edited by Roy Tomkinson, Tuesday, 12 Oct 2010, 14:39
What constitutes art? A question indeed, and difficult to answer, for what is porridge for one is often poison for the other. Let’s try: A picture – sculpture – photo – building – novel; a landscape, a forest, a tree; stars, planets, galaxies. Anything, everything, nothing; a black hole, a flat surface, all can be looked upon as art.
Art is subjective, and of value purely in accordance to the taste of the individual, and of course, where that person is as he or she travels along that individual journey of life we all must tread.
We all, every one of us, play a part, a very small part, in the art of nature, yet often, we just walk past without stopping to look, to listen, to stare, too busy to see the wonder of the things (the art) which surrounds us every single minute of every single day.
For me, I like walking, especially so in a natural forest where I feel close to nature; that is the best kind of art, nature’s dynamic art; moving, changing, creating; a myriad of shapes in numerous colours: twisted branches, rough, smooth, round: square shaped stones poking out of the ground.
The sound of the wind as it rushes and gushes and rustles and tussles through the trees: animal sounds. The sunlight as it hits the trees as it dances with the leaves to create beams of light filled with minute airborne particles, most of which are seeds: alive, looking for that special bit of earth into which to land and find life, to change the picture yet again.
Water, a river as it flows towards the sea, the bubbling, babbling, burping, gibbering sounds: every molecule alive and bursting and busting with energy trying to reunite once again with its mother the sea, and so it goes forth, ever onward, filling nook and cranny, crick and crack as it goes its merry way. Sometimes, it pauses, sometimes it stops, there is silence where the water runs deep, and yet, there is still sound—the sound of no sound—a rustle of leaves, a fish jumps – splash – a ring moves towards the shore and it is gone as if by magic back from whence it came.
I see art, as living, as vibrant, ever changing, ever moving, always perfect, often silent, sometimes deadly, never boring.
Nature’s art seemingly appears slow to change; sometimes, so subtly the eye misses the change and the movement is missed. Other times the change is so violent we can’t help but notice. Always there is beauty; frosty winter, tingling spring, vibrant summer, blustery autumn, and so the cycle turns as if on a wheel of fortune as the picture changes form as nature dances to its own orchestrated sounds and colours. Growing more pronounced as the seasons change, for the now second is not the same as the preceding second, or the second that follows.
We should stop, take stock, see, smell, feel the message for nature speaks to us, with us, for us, and if we take the time to listen—I mean really listen—your life will be enriched, your mind will be at rest, you heart will be at peace. That for me is where the real beauty of art lies.
Remember the poem Desiderata.
Please, if you have the time, I would like to hear what art means to you – let me know.
What Constitues Art.
What constitutes art? A question indeed, and difficult to answer, for what is porridge for one is often poison for the other. Let’s try: A picture – sculpture – photo – building – novel; a landscape, a forest, a tree; stars, planets, galaxies. Anything, everything, nothing; a black hole, a flat surface, all can be looked upon as art.
Art is subjective, and of value purely in accordance to the taste of the individual, and of course, where that person is as he or she travels along that individual journey of life we all must tread.
We all, every one of us, play a part, a very small part, in the art of nature, yet often, we just walk past without stopping to look, to listen, to stare, too busy to see the wonder of the things (the art) which surrounds us every single minute of every single day.
For me, I like walking, especially so in a natural forest where I feel close to nature; that is the best kind of art, nature’s dynamic art; moving, changing, creating; a myriad of shapes in numerous colours: twisted branches, rough, smooth, round: square shaped stones poking out of the ground.
The sound of the wind as it rushes and gushes and rustles and tussles through the trees: animal sounds. The sunlight as it hits the trees as it dances with the leaves to create beams of light filled with minute airborne particles, most of which are seeds: alive, looking for that special bit of earth into which to land and find life, to change the picture yet again.
Water, a river as it flows towards the sea, the bubbling, babbling, burping, gibbering sounds: every molecule alive and bursting and busting with energy trying to reunite once again with its mother the sea, and so it goes forth, ever onward, filling nook and cranny, crick and crack as it goes its merry way. Sometimes, it pauses, sometimes it stops, there is silence where the water runs deep, and yet, there is still sound—the sound of no sound—a rustle of leaves, a fish jumps – splash – a ring moves towards the shore and it is gone as if by magic back from whence it came.
I see art, as living, as vibrant, ever changing, ever moving, always perfect, often silent, sometimes deadly, never boring.
Nature’s art seemingly appears slow to change; sometimes, so subtly the eye misses the change and the movement is missed. Other times the change is so violent we can’t help but notice. Always there is beauty; frosty winter, tingling spring, vibrant summer, blustery autumn, and so the cycle turns as if on a wheel of fortune as the picture changes form as nature dances to its own orchestrated sounds and colours. Growing more pronounced as the seasons change, for the now second is not the same as the preceding second, or the second that follows.
We should stop, take stock, see, smell, feel the message for nature speaks to us, with us, for us, and if we take the time to listen—I mean really listen—your life will be enriched, your mind will be at rest, you heart will be at peace. That for me is where the real beauty of art lies.
Remember the poem Desiderata.
Please, if you have the time, I would like to hear what art means to you – let me know.