It’s not, honestly. / I just wanted to grab your thoughts, / Just like I wanted you to grab my heart. / So hold it tight, like a lover’s departure. / Pull it out, after you made the puncture. / Caste me aside and lay it out. / Let the table soak it in, / And sketch it. / Capture my emotion. / Capture how the light glistens. / Capture the loneliness inside, / And the fulfillment all around. /
But don’t sketch me, lying on the floor / With my insides strung out. / I’m not the art, / I’m the artist. / I gave you my heart, / the emotions to capture, / the memories to breath in. / Hang it up and show the world my art. / No one remembers the artist. / But that doesn’t matter, / Because you will. / Now crumple the drawing, / And sketch it again. / Take in that emotion. / Now you’re the artist. / They might not remember you. / But that doesn’t matter, / Because I will.
(Listen, / Art is not dying. / It doesn’t need a doctor, / It doesn’t need to be analyzed. / Art is alive, it has a beat. / It just needs to be felt.
If any of you think like scientists, / Understand that art is about expression. / No reason. Only emotion. / Don’t call everything art. Don’t denounce art. / You could give something four stars. / I could give a four asterisks. / I’ll be upset if you try to stereotype art. / One thing I learned, / Is you can’t, so please don’t.)
Posted by Artur Dabrowski on December 20, 2008
Tags: Chelsea Galleries
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