Is there a greater meaning in life than art? What is the point of it all: All the dramas we live through and create, the ant hills we spend our lives building knowing there’s a maniacal toddler lurking in the shadows? The whole universe is engaged in an unending act of love-making. Birth, death, and all the infinite cycles still always lead to something new, something alive and creative. Creation is the energy that infuses us, it is the uncontainable imagination of art. Art is the power to bring death to life, thought to matter, infusing reality with the magic of fantasy. When I hear an amazing story captured in words, gaze at a beautiful painting, or peer into the life’s work of a scientist, I feel as if the whole rest of creation joins me there for in witness, applauding the singular beauty of that moment’s raw power. All the infinities of space and time are equations working themselves out, limitlessly striving to find new patterns, and ways of self-expression. There is always an awe and spectacular wonderment at every childbirth, even for the most seasoned of mid-person. The universal witnessing of art is what we could rightly call worship. It’s the heart of spirituality, an act of sexual union, for sexuality is creation in action. What is the art alive in you? What is longing to speak through you? Do it, and do it at all costs. The fate of the universe rests in the awakening of its artists. This is of course, a fate to be undertaken playfully and with the utmost pleasure, for that is the irony of artwork.
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