As I was becoming disenchanted with my perhaps immature concept of 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 itself beyond creations about it: moments never mangled by anything or anyone, nor even Art or Science.
For a little while, I was sick of the thought of forcing ideas into paper while there was a stronger desire for more of a sort of simple reality to be unearthed, to be perceived or discovered purely–combined with the obvious frustration that I wouldn’t know what to do with it. Even if such a thing as unearthing reality meant meant simply to attain a concept in my mind, I felt I would not want to corrupt it on paper. Part of its beauty is, after all, how fleeting its bits are: how it pertains to only a moment, how it doesn’t depend on perception. Yet, I was ironically trying to appreciate it by an attempt to extend it and explore. The moment was that engaging conversation, almost magical even.
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 the moment, 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 with all my thoughts. Conversation was the only thing I could do at the moment—moment that I was enjoying while contemplating it.
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 inside my mind that reflected into the conversation. Art 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, and so, 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 to part of the human perception. Still those attempts are a reality in themselves and they have their own unique qualities.
Plus I still like 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, its beauty goes on beyond it—it is there, constantly alive regardless of acknowledgement. Reality is God moving despite the blanks he seems to leave in space and time; which, when seen as a whole, form that perfect 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, they 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 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 reach and so render less glory. That too is part of their beauty.