art, beauty, life

More than anything else, I wish I was an artist. I like to think I have artist intuition and an eye that picks up on aesthetics, but I seem to lack the talent of transferring most of my artisic or below the surface thoughts onto paper or into dialogue or into pliable art. Maybe I don't try hard enough. Maybe if I sat down at the piano for hours and hours each day, I would eventually be able to transfer the melodies I heard in my head onto the keys without the hassle of pressing each key to find the right sound. Maybe if I took up painting in a class or tried to imitate great artists, I could also develop somewhat of a style. For starters, we have this great view at home..it's gorgeous during all seasons..vast amount of trees in the distance, a portion of the immense Hudson River at our finger tips..silent and still during the winter and bustling with life during the spring and summer. An artist could capture that river in words or pictures. An artist could own that river in his description. I think I start to think so much about the act of being an artist when I am engulfed in art itself. At the moment I am reading one of my many fiction novels. Reading is one of my all-time favorite pastimes..slipping away into someone else's head for a while..being captured in their world. And, after I read a few chapters intently, I start to feel the words pouring out of me..I look out the window and start to find poetic phrases to mirror what I am seeing, I start to invent story lines in my head, illustrations to go along. Maybe the key to being a great artist is just that..to surround yourself with great art..or at least to keep the mind occupied. Until then, I will forever be envious of those who can find shapes, structures and fluidity with a paintbrush, create three dimensional people in words and transform a stage with only their body presence. They are the ones who show us just how beautiful life can be.