“Ha! What was your question- aha, what is art, eh?
It’s surely beauty for anything not beautiful in this world is not worth looking. Yet it begets pain. It’s no value. It is intelligent and like all things possessing intelligence it is quite worthless.
It is ... what difference does it make what is it, because it is something that will not be comprehended. It is oblique. Hence, it will have many interpretations. People will vow for it. They will suppose they understand and may even offer explanation of it. Ha! But it is not about that; believe me. How I know? Ha! I know.
Are you getting anything, anything I blurting out here? Or are you taking me as an old fool? You certainly think I am stupid. Don’t you? Ha! No, no it is not your fault. It is me. I am not a good teacher. Let me try again.
Look, art is not just scratching a painted brush over the cotton canvas. Neither it is sculpting Hercules from the stones. It is not composing the silken verses. It is neither a play nor a living act. It is much more and so less. It is not the end, not the final composition. It comes much prior to it. It is generated at the genesis. It meets the intellection at beginning, bearing the composition and then as composition takes shape, the art, the genesis fades to oblivion. So, whatever you see in front of you- This emotional face, these eclectic colours or this, whatever ghoulish is this, it is not art. Art was what was consumed in making these things: An innocent, divine and ethereal feeling. A feeling which enwraps every creation, be it ghastly carcass or a beautiful diva. It is everything. Yet it ends up as nothing.
Oh, but you are a fool. I can see it on your face, with your squinty eyes and stupid face. You can never understand this. Why did he send you to me? Why is he torturing me? Oh! I am wasting my time. Do you really think you can learn art? Ha, tell?”
He looked over to me with venomous eyes and I just babbled, “I want to”.
- Remember
