You are not art. I am sorry, but there is nothing about you that needs a canvas stretched across a gallery, paint – blood red as an open wound, ice blue like the arctic, black as a dark mustang running freely in the woods – you are none of these things because you darling, you are not art. You are not a thing to be put up on a wall admired for a moment by hundreds no, thousands of people, only to be forgotten for the next big thing, the next big artist, the next beautiful canvas. You are not a day’s or a month’s flustered inspiration – an artist putting you together, staring at a masterpiece that sings to him in the voice of a siren deep in the night, a muse that is more demon, never allowing him to sleep.
No. You are not art. Something that catches a trader’s fancy to be bought and hidden away in the private collection of a wealthy collector. Only to be loved once in a while, caged in a luxurious room, surrounded by magnificence and wonder – but shrouded in darkness…your magnificence lost in this golden cage. You cannot be this thing that has no freedom, no life, no soul unless someone is looking upon you, allowing you to breathe in for a moment with their gaze alone.
Darling. Has no one ever told you. Some things are too beautiful to be art. Some things are not meant to be held captive by canvas, drawn and painted by another’s hand, only to be forgotten for the next pretty thing that inspires that hand. You are not art because you are more than art.
You are not art because you are too much, too real, too alive. Art cannot bleed the way you do. Or love the early mornings or the night sky. Or feel the truth of every storm reverberate in its very heart. You deserve more than a fleeting glance, a cursive look or a critical gaze. You deserve to be held, to be looked upon as an adventure, to enjoy and be enjoyed.
You are nothing static. You are a breathing reflection of everything the universe has to offer. A song sung into existence by so much more than inspiration. It took six million years of evolution to build you, to bring you to this moment – so much more than any artist could ever spare for even the greatest of his masterpieces. You are a multitude of majestic feelings, every single one, once felt, never felt again in the same magnitude. You are the millions of things that happen to you in your lifetime. And no piece of art can boast of those feelings, or experiences.
No. You are not art. You are human. And that means… you are galaxies and universes more.