Art comes to us in many forms. Sometimes art is the dynamic captured moment in a photograph or the serene picturesque painting of scenery. Sometimes it is the delicate movement of dancers on stage or the brilliant, forgotten idea in the old diary lost in a box somewhere. Sometimes art is some paint splashed across a canvas or strawberries sequentially pinned onto a board. Sometimes art is a mixture of tastes and textures that enriches your palate or the presence of a character in the theatre that encapsulates you and reminds you of place so familiar. Art is so much and it is growing with each creation.
To me, art is a subjective understanding of meaning; it is ineffable, yet makes sense. Every given art form has boundaries and rules to distinguish it, yet the wonder of art is in how pieces of different shapes and colours can expand or play within those boundaries. Art is raw or refined and a place where the only idea of perfection is to match the product with the intent and vision. Art may involve getting it just right, but more often than not art is passion and truth in fruition. Art is an extension of self and an inclusion of other.
I like that art is sometimes this jumble of confusion splattered onto a page. Only when it is incubated within the artist then born violently onto the page can all see its beauty.