The sounds of my footsteps echoed throughout that vast expansive space as I made my way from one exhibit to another.
The afternoon was quiet and visitors unusually few, to my utter delight, for I could then muse over any art piece I liked for as long as I wanted, without being interrupted in the spinning of my web of thoughts.
“You like it?”
Oh great, an intruder. I glanced up to see a fellow patron, smiling pleasantly at me.
“Well, yes rather.”
“It’s fascinating to me too,” the intruder continued, oblivious to the fact that my space had been trespassed. “But what do you think about the whole thing?”
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t quite sure what that question meant.
“About this whole… concept of art.”
“Concept?”
“Yes. Say this very piece of exhibit. Is it art?”
“Well, yes, I suppose.”
The intruder was still gazing at the exhibit.
“Or are the thoughts and concoctions that flow through your mind as it attempts to make sense of what it sees, which culminates in the final masterpiece it forms, might that instead be actually the art?”
The air hung heavy with the after-silence of that question.
Finally, I found my tongue. “I suppose one could see it that way too, yes.”
“Therefore art cannot be contained within a piece of canvas or a lump of clay. It extends out within each of us, and through our actions, through the people who experience our actions, and still more people who experience their actions, till in the end, we are all intertwined in one intricate web of our artistic humanity.”
I let out a huge breath and said, “That actually makes… sense in its own way.”
“Well, I’ll not disturb you further. Have a marvellous day.” The intruder gave me a smile and then walked away.
Once again, silence reigned in that vast expansive space.
Awl and Scribe 