Art
In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
But form to lend, pulsed life create,
What unlike things must meet and mate:
A flame to melt—a wind to freeze;
Sad patience—joyous energies;
Humility—yet pride and scorn;
Instinct and study; love and hate;
Audacity—reverence. These must mate,
And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart,
To wrestle with the angel—Art.
Art is man’s attempt to make sense of the mysterious and incomprehensible world. When you make art, try to express the inexpressible or to paint something that’s a total mystery. After all, as Flannery O’Connor said, “these things are mysteries and [ ] if they were such that we could understand them, they wouldn’t be worth understanding.” Go ahead, and wrestle with the angel—that’s the whole point.
Have a wonderful day.
