Art is whatever we choose and make
that’s interesting enough to call art.
And we are who stand in awe of,
and respectfully behold that art;
And then, introspectively, we
commingle our art with ourselves,
Beholding and holding the two
phenomena, the two anomalies,
Together in our time—in the towering
truth of our consciousness.
This is both the mystery and
the challenge of reality:
That we, bodies of corruption,
are dying to live our art
And to become its manifestation
and to wake from or into it.
The poetry of reality
is to puzzle over and divine,
To prove, with our intuition,
what science can’t find and define.
A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.
