This statement is blanket, obvious, rebellious, whatever, embodied with folds and layers, a bit confusing, and downright joyous. It's also the wifi password here because the token words laying down the pathway to my future hosting this space are "everything is art," "notice," and "accessibility."
One of the biggest questions an artist has is "Why do I art and for what?" Stretching back the layers, we discover such upwardly mobile things as alignment and balance on the infinite mountainside of expansive transcendence. We praise and love upon existence through discipline practice. We gaze upon our hands and reach for the fruit. We discover the rollercoaster thrill of decadence, darkness, mystery, and pleasure. The more whole we begin to process creating and experiencing art, the more open become doors to face great trauma, horror, and evils within and outside.
It occurred to me at some point that these questions aren't just for artists. They are for everyone, and where these points align, all that was, is, and will be meets on the clock. Everything is art. Notice is. Notice is the way. Notice is the way in. Notice is the way into experience, breath, healing, pain, curiosity, self-regulation. Noticing really helps. It's the power in putting a name to an obstacle. As soon you could muster the wisdom to say Rumpelstiltskin's name, he let you pass. It's nuts how noticing, putting a name, and responding in accordance can really set a person strait. Heightened awareness fuels the depth of experiencing the art of life.
Accessibility is just about dissolving the hyper-opinionated dichotomies of "I'm not an artist, so..." vs "I am an artist distinguished, so..." The process of waking up, going pee, brushing your teeth, fixing your hair, selecting clothes, and feeding yourself is a masterpiece. It's something worth beholding. Even experiencing art is art. Not necessarily the art itself. When I was making music videos back in 2019, the process of making the video felt more the art for me than the video itself. Moving numbers around as a bookkeeper is a miracle. Like, numbers are a miracle. Of course, bookkeeping becomes difficult to complete with a little too much beholding of the glorious miracle of numbers, but alas, it is miraculous. Fluffing pillows is a dance. Brushing your teeth is a sacred ritual of self-keeping. Sitting at a traffic light, hearing the rumble of a jet plane as it triggers two car alarms to duet while hunks of metal whirl the wind past your ears is a brilliant orchestra of time and fate. We can just notice, and suddenly everyone has access to being an artist and everything is art.
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