In the beginning of it all, a blank canvas is all that exists. The work on it is always started with a picture in mind. The strokes are enjoyed to the last strand of the hair on the brush and the colours rejoiced. Emotions influence the strokes every now and then- sometimes the part comes out gracefully; sometimes shabbily. Bits of the painting are redone, patched up or scratched out. But at the end of all the hours spent on that one small canvas, hours that seemed like minutes, the result and the picture as a whole, regardless of its resemblance to the picture envisioned, will always have beauty, value and raw emotion in it. It will always make sense in the end. That is exactly what life is. The only difference is that art is romanticized, and life isn’t. And that’s where we all go wrong.
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but isnt it through art and poetry and music that we romanticize life?
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Yeah, but in the process we end up romanticizing the work in itself rather than what it represents don’t we? If we could just appreciate even the smallest things in life by just savouring it and sinking in it’s form, by seeing it rather than just looking at it, we would accept and love life with all its flaws and shortcomings like we do with art, don’t you think? I feel like romanticizing life through art is just one way of doing it.
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