Everything I know about art, I learned through television. Van Gogh cut off his ear, Picasso was a stylized thief, Leonardo was an accidental artist, and so forth. I don’t know if any of that is true, but if I needed to know, I figure I could ask anyone.
Everyone has taken at least one art history class.
Everyone except me.
It’s hard to explain because, by all accounts, I’m a very well-informed person. Thanks to an academic upbringing and an insatiable curiosity, there are precious few topics of conversation that I cannot follow.
I don’t necessarily have deep thoughts or opinions on everything, but if you need me to speak about event planning, the history of baseball, Australian politics, or practices of fisherman throughout the world, I can. I am a voracious reader and a dedicated researcher. My memory is golden; my curiosity, endless.
I’ve just never needed to know what makes art successful, or how to build it. I guess you could say– though I know nothing about it and can’t create it– art is my passion.
My love for it is wild and personal, ignorant and blissful.
I’ve owned art galleries and curated shows throughout the country, but I don’t know what type of art something is, or which famous artists inspired the styling. I just know whether or not I can hear it whisper from the walls, and how those whispers make me feel.
Years ago, my life-long art collection was pieced apart. From the painting I bought with my first ever paycheck, to the ones I commissioned, nearly all of it was donated or sold.
When life un-knotted itself, as life does no matter how tangled it becomes, I surrounded myself with the artwork I had left. I tried to re-piece my collection to rebuild the chorus of whispers that used to sing me to sleep, but soon realized that I was holding onto a memory. I let go and, serendipitously soon after, received a gift of artwork from artist-blogger, Veronica Roth.
Veronica and I have been fast friends since we found each other here, at the very beginning of my blogging journey. Her artwork glimmers with the old world charm, peaceful ambition and determined energy that so marks her personality. The lithographs themselves are exactly the sort I would have bought for myself, and the fact that they are a result of an entirely new direction for her is a testament to her talent.
I don’t have Veronica’s artist’s eye, objectivity or knowledge. When I look at art, I know only how it makes me feel.
And this art fills me with serenity.
It tells me to stop worrying about tomorrow, because I’m already living it. It tells me to stop worrying about rebuilding, because I have already rebuilt. It whispers to me that every new journey is a compilation of old journeys and intuitions.
The whispers are a lullaby, quietly serenading my journey forward.
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What type of art do you love?
(Thanks for whispers, V. Sorry for the pictures. You and I both know they look better in real life, but my real camera broke and I had to depend on the cellphone!)