As I was becoming disenchanted with Art and Writing and the such, the topic came up in a conversation that turned into a sort of appreciation of the beauty of Reality: simple moments not trampled by anything or anyone, nor Art or Science.
For a little while, I was sick of the thought of contriving ideas into paper while there was a stronger and stronger desire for more reality unearthed in my mind. Yet, there was the obvious frustration that I wouldn’t know what to do with it. Even if such a thing as unearthing reality simply meant attaining a concept in my mind, I felt I would not want to debase it on paper. Part of its beauty is, after all, how fleeting its bits are: how it pertains to only a moment, how it does not even depend on perception. Yet, I was trying to appreciate it by an attempt to extend it and explore it.
I still knew that later, after reading a good book or watching a good movie, I would taunt myself again with the idea that creating was worth the effort—but for now, reality was too precious to meddle with using anything more complex than the conversation in turn. Maybe also too precious for that, but that didn’t seem to stop it any more than just slowing it. Conversation was the only thing I could do at the moment with the reality I perceived I was contemplating.
And then, while in the same conversation, I remembered the beauty of the book of Job. And so I started to return to a certain appreciation of Art. Art in my mind still remained unreachable if it desired any relevance—at least it seemed unreachable by most mortals and me, but it again became something real in the universe—even something worth the effort.
There might be no way we can truly capture life on paper or screen or canvas, it is likely that nothing we do will match the real thing—simply consider art’s vanity and its limitations as it can only speak and even be to part of the human perception.
I still like it. I still want it. I think about it more than I give it a serious try.
The beauty of the original is that it is only fleeting to our perception, but its beauty goes on beyond our works or our perceptions—it is there, constantly alive regardless of acknowledgement. Reality is God moving despite the spaces he seems to leave in space and time; which, when seen as a whole, form that perfect beauty of the All.
Even if nothing we do will match the real thing, when some perceive such bits of reality, frustrated by their being fleeting to our perception, these people strive to make it into a something we can see and handle. It is different from the real thing, but that makes it a precious bit in itself to experience and contemplate.
Later in the conversation, I came to appreciate the Art of Conversation, with which I will close this rant. Conversation itself can also be the unearthing, the discovering, the pinpointing and attempting-in-a-phrase to bring to life a particle of truth to the human beholder. Yet it doesn’t need as complex a craft as other types of Art. It doesn’t need to get a background as the background is already implied. The beholders are pushing you to create, giving you a course in which you are forced to act. The conversation is alive outside of you and you decide what to create with it. As a work of the mind, conversations do not have much permanence. They have less of a reach and so render less of the glory. They are closer to be part of that fleeting reality to our perceptions. That too, after all, is part of their beauty.
