Art

"The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls."

~Pablo Picasso

Dust happens.  It happens to the best of us, and the worst of us.  It happens to people who really really care about dust (and keeping it off of everything) and to people who could care less (and simply don't clean it off of anything).  Some people seem to have a permanant layer of dust, while others look as if they've never seen a speck in thier lives. 

I've got a VanGogh in my living room.  Obviously, it's not an original.  That's kind of an understatement, because it's just a poster in a plastic frame, but I really like it.  It's called Cafe Billiard, and I like the way the colors go together, how things don't quite match up as if the whole thing were a dream sequence, and how unclear brushstrokes still manage to convey an idea.  I could hang out at Cafe Billiard.  I really could.  The lights bouncing off the green ceiling... The patrons slumpped in their chairs... It would be my kind of hang out.

My wife Kisha is a bit of an artist.  She does photography, and is genuinely moved by the other art she sees: photos, paintings, sculptures, nature, etc.  You should see her pintrest page for photography.  I give her a hard time for being a "lookey lou", but secretly I like that she sees the things I might walk past.  It provides me with an opportunity to take in things I wouldn't normally observe.

If we're not careful, our souls truly can get dusty.  Daily life, the grind, the rut, the groove; no matter how your description, life has a way of providing dust, whether or not we're moving around and doing a lot of activity.  Art helps us engage with our emotions, and sometimes to employ emotions we won't usually use.  If we stop to look at a piece of art--really consider what we're looking at or hearing--we're wiping away the collection of stale emotnionlessness that we encour just by living.  I think Picasso may have been on to something.