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Sometime you have fears. And sometimes, you fear they might come true. And at other times still, you fear that writing about it will make it come true. Isn’t that why newspapers are more valued than electronic news media? At least in journalistic circles, I would say. Written word is more credible and can be used as a textbook of language.Right now I’m thinking mushy poetry makes me sick. I could never bring myself to writing one. Or maybe I could write one but never make a post of it.The guy with the glasses and girly shawls makes it a point to remind me to keep all of the sense and nonsense updated. I think that’s a good thing. Writing can never cause anyone harm, unless of course, Taslima Nasreen is your idol, in which case you would be harming yourself more than anyone else. Just for the record, I have nothing against her.I was reading back the other day. ‘Reading back’, is ‘looking back’ with reading involved. It somehow made me feel good. How all of us have changed over these past six months. It’s hard to believe!I remember taking art classes in school. My teacher was short and bald. I think he was a good at his job; at least he did paint a lot of pretty pictures from what I can recall. He’d almost always give us an emotion ridden speech on art and creativity. “What is art?” he’d say. “Take some colour, splash it on the canvas. That is art. Or take a shoe, place it on a stool. What do you see? A boat.” I tried. The former looked a mess to me and the latter somehow never looked like a boat. Perhaps, it would have if it didn’t smell.But what really is art? I remember ‘P’ in our literary theory class. ‘What is art?’ the teacher asked. ‘P’ says to me (with fake seriousness), “art is literature. Literature is art”, at which point I burst out laughing because ‘P’ is as far from intellectual as far can be. But think about it. Is it really? Yes and no, in my opinion. All of literature is art but all of art is not literature. Art is so vast and cannot be defined by mortals like us. Does this mean that what we create is above us, is almost divine? I think I’d like to believe that and judging from his Nobel acceptance speech, Alexander Solzhenitsyn agrees with me..."AS THE SAVAGE, WHO IN BEWILDERMENT has picked up a strange sea--leaving, a thing hidden in the sand, or an incomprehensible something fallen out of the sky--something intricately curved, sometimes shimmering dully, sometimes shining in a bright ray of light--turns it this way and that, turns it looking for a way to use it, for some ordinary use to which he can put it, without suspecting an extraordinary one...So we, holding Art in our hands, self-confidently consider ourselves its owners, brashly give it aim, renovate it, re-form it, make manifestoes of it, sell it for cash, play up to the powerful with it, and turn it around at times for entertainment, even in vaudeville songs and in nightclubs, and at times--using stopper or stick, whichever comes first--for transitory political or limited social needs. But Art is not profaned by our attempts, does not because of them lose touch with its source, Each time and by each use it yields us a part of its mysterious inner light.But will we comprehend all that light? Who will dare say that he has DEFINED art? That he has tabulated all its facets? Perhaps someone in ages past did understand and named them for us, but we could not hold still; we listened; we were scornful; we discarded them at once, always in a hurry to replace even the best with anything new! And when the old truth is told us again, we do not remember that we once possessed it. "
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sometimes art can be random.
but got bored when the speech started, so stopped.