Art As Nourishment

For most people, art’s an amenity.

Puppetry on the periphery of Life.

We consume, excrete, work, make love, sleep, and typically, art fills the blank spaces.

The dull moments.

Art’s relegated to entertainment. A medium for mental dissolution into Timelessness. A momentary abater of obligations.

Until the wind changes

We experience heartbreak, sudden illness, the Death of a loved one. Previously unimaginable suffering.

Then something curious happens. Amid our anguish, we intuitively seek art to understand our agonizing human predicament.

Art becomes a meditation.

A conduit for expressing an inexpressible profundity mocking logic.

Suddenly, art becomes a crutch. A Life rope.

And it begins to make sense; this miracle humans instinctively receive out of the metaphysical.

This useless hierophany shaking the core of our Being emerges as a yearning duende.

We begin to sense art connects us to those bewitched and bewildered by the paradoxical weight of living.

Conversely, when our lives are perforated by unexpected elation, we seek art to understand ourselves and our experiences.

In the throngs of budding euphoria, we hunger to know if anyone ever felt this connected to the synchronicities of Life.

Art becomes a vital thread reuniting us with the immensity of the human experience.

The aeonic need to express our chrysalis of Reality. The craving to be understood and derive strength from meaning in our lives.

Somehow through the harmony of sound and silence light and shade and form and space, we’re healed.

We’re reminded of the Mystery.

In the poignant moments, art’s no longer an indulgence; it’s nourishment.