Continuing with photos from last weekend’s snowstorm, today’s photos confirm my belief that art is everywhere, if we’ll only stop and look for it.
Very often it’s the everyday objects and moments that give us the opportunity to capture or create art. Lighting, shapes, colors or textures are often key components of appealing art. Even an ordinary old stop sign can qualify as art! CLICK for more UNEXPECTED ART
Seeing the Unseen
You’ve probably looked to the sky before and have “seen” a person, an animal or an inanimate object in some peculiarly shaped cloud. Although in reality the person, animal or object wasn’t actually adrift in the clouds, you really did see that invisible scene in your mind, in your imagination.
When it comes to things that have popped into your imagination, have you ever tried to describe them to another person? In my own experience, sometimes the other person “saw” what I saw, but they often did not.
At times I’ve been the same way, too, when others have tried to describe their visions or dreams to me. I didn’t “see” what they saw, either. I didn’t “get it.”
Creativity and Communication
It quite often seems to be such an impossible task — the conveyance of our unseen dreams, aspirations, or inner creations to others. I think that’s why art, drama, music, and various forms of creative expression are important. They help us to communicate on deeper levels — soul to soul, spirit to spirit.
In my view, creativity and the arts are vital simply because so much of life — and so much within our very selves — is not black and white, not 1-2-3, not formulaic. Instead, in our God-stamped humanity, there seems to be an ever-present “deep calling to deep.”
The Silent Song
Although the above photo is not an especially beautiful image, it nevertheless represents a solitary moment, on a beautiful morning, in the midst of a broom sage field in Lewisville, North Carolina. (I wrote about that morning in two previous posts — Someone’s Story and When Our Photos Disappoint Us.)
Within a few square feet of what appeared to be only stalks of broom sage swaying in a gentle breeze, I saw something more. I saw “music.” Actually, I saw musical notes. And when I saw the notes, I heard the silent song of the broom sage — not literally, of course, but in an imaginary sense.
I’ve prepared a second, graphically modified version of the photo, in order hopefully to give you an idea of what I envisioned in that scene. It really doesn’t come close to the imaginary musical notes that I saw, but maybe it will be helpful to some degree. You can see that modified photo in the NEXT SECTION. CLICK to see the musical notes
For years I’ve regularly driven Highway 421 between Lewisville and Winston-Salem. On so many occasions, I looked over at the property of Joe’s Landscaping and Nursery and saw the sunlight creating a strikingly beautiful scene. Most often it was early morning light or late evening light that transformed portions of the property into nature’s works of art.
Whenever I observed those beautiful scenes, I’d typically experience a brief feeling of euphoria, followed by a tinge of emotional pain. Why the pain?
The pain has something to do with seeing a moment of beauty and wanting to capture and share it, but having to let go of that possibility, due to demands or circumstances. In this instance, a four-lane, rush-hour scenario was the foremost deterrent! Even though I knew pulling off the highway was not realistic, that still did not assuage the sense of loss that I felt.
Perhaps the desire to share the beauty one observes is common to those of us who are artists at heart. Whatever the reason for that desire, I think it’s in my DNA.
Ordinarily, I’d have followed up the previous photo of the rusty old car with something very different. But I thought I’d have a little fun with this close-up of the old car before moving on.
Whether or not you like this kind of look, it does demonstrate that you can find “art” — or make art — from the ugliest or most mundane of subjects. It often just requires some experimentation. Sometimes that process includes periods of not really liking how the experiment is going. You might even begin to question your choices and feel you’ve embarked on a dead-end path.
But sometimes, all of a sudden, you try one thing and — Wowee! — you’re amazed! Something new has emerged.